V 


IWRARY.  iOS 


LONESOME  TOWN 


Only  at  the  threat  of  her  raised  crop  did  he  drop  the  grasped 
bridle  rein. 


LONESOME   TOWN 


BY 

ETHEL  and  JAMES  DORRANCE 

AUTHORS  OF 

"Glory  Rides  the  Range"  "Get  Your  Man,"  etc. 


FRONTISPIECE  BY 

G.  W.  GAGE 


NEW  YORK 

THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1922,  BY 
THE  MACAULAY  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN   THE  U.   S.  A. 


To 
FATHER  KNICKERBOCKER 

WHO  HAS  WILLED  TO  HIS  HEIRS  FOREVER 
THE  GREAT  HERITAGE  OF  CENTRAL  PARK 


CONTENTS 


MCE 
I 


II      A  TlP  FROM  THE  TOP 8 

III  THE  SKY  SIGN 18 

IV  DOUBLE  Focus 27 

V    ONLY  THE  BRAVE 36 

VI    JUST  Au  REVOIR 47 

VII    THE  EMERGENCY  MAN 55 

VIII     EMPTY! 63 

IX    SNUFFED 74 

X    THE  OLD  PARK  LADY 86 

XI    DUE  EAST 102 

XII    WHAT  A  WELCOME 116 

XIII  IN  HER  SERVICE 134 

XIV  THE  CREDIT  PLAN 144 

XV    THE  LIMIT  OF  TRUST 156 

XVI    AN  ACCEPTED  ALLY 165 

XVII     POPLARS  FOUR 179 

XVIII    Too  READY  RESCUE 191 

XIX  TEN  OF  TO-MORROW  MORNING      .     .     .  203 

XX  ONE  LIVELY  ESCUTCHEON  212 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXI     IGNORING  IRENE 222 

XXII     BEEF  ON  THE  HOOF 233 

XXIII  THE  MAN  BEHIND 244 

XXIV  LOST  YET  WON 260 

XXV    HUNTERS  HUNTED 274 

XXVI    HOUSE  OF  BLOCKS 285 

XXVII  "FORTUNE  FOREVERMORE"       ....  298 


LONESOME  TOWN 


LONESOME  TOWN 

CHAPTER  I 

SOME   PLACE   LIKE   HOME 

THE  trail  spilled  into  a  pool  of  shadows  at  the 
bottom  of  the  gorge.  As  if  doubtful  of  follow- 
ing it,  the  lone  rider  in  chaps  and  a  flannel  shirt  drew 
up  for  a  "breathing."  This  was  gratefully  advantaged 
by  his  mount.  Evidently  they  had  come  at  speed,  what- 
ever the  distance,  for  the  reins  were  lathered  and  foam 
flecked  the  bit  corners. 

The  man  removed  his  white  sombrero  and  mopped 
his  brow  with  a  purple  bandanna.  The  fingers  with 
which  he  combed  back  his  moist  thatch  nicely  matched 
the  hair  in  color — sunburn  brown.  His  head  bulged 
slightly  at  the  back,  but  was  balanced  on  a  neck  and 
shoulders  splendidly  proportioned.  His  rather  plain 
face  was  not  covered  with  stubble  or  mustache — cheek 
bones  high,  jaw  sloping  in  at  an  angle,  nose  straight, 
lips  thin  by  contrast  with  their  width. 

While  he  rests  in  his  saddle,  every  pore  of  him 
exuding  healthfully  to  the  midsummer  heat  of  an 
unusual  spring,  meet  "Why-Not"  Pape,  of  Hellroaring 
Valley,  Montana.  But  don't  expect  to  understand — 


2  LONESOME  TOWN 

not  at  first  hand  grasp — how  one  christened  Peter 
Stansbury  Pape  some  thirty-odd  years  before,  had  come 
by  his  interrogatory  sobriquet.  No  more  could  you 
have  seen  in  his  expression  excuse  for  the  pace  to  which 
he  had  put  his  horse.  His  eyes — the  best  of  his 
features — looked  pleased  and  told  of  peace  with  the 
world ;  gray,  with  dark  lashes  and  irises,  they  scanned 
the  granite  wall  rising  sheer  from  the  trail-side.  Sight- 
ing a  bull  snake  that  peered  down  at  him  from  its 
crevasse,  both  of  them  smiled  and  one  amiably  winked. 

You  must  have  been  something  of  a  psychoanalyst — 
able  to  go  below  the  surface  of  day-time  and  sleep- 
time  dreams — to  have  realized  the  unreliability  in  this 
case  of  surface  indications.  Only  by  such  super-sight 
could  you  have  seen  that  Why-Not  Pape  merely  ap- 
peared to  be  peaceful  and  pleased.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
his  head  and  his  heart  were  heavy  with  disappointment. 
But  then,  a  subject  so  deep  and  personal  shouldn't 
be  broached  at  this  first  formal  introduction. 

Meet  also,  if  you  please,  Polkadot  Pape,  a  cross-bred 
cow-pony  who  soon  could  quip  the  interest  of  any 
horse-worthy  he-man  and  who,  by  virtue  of  his  weird 
and  wicked  style  of  beauty,  could  command  the  ad- 
miration of  the  fair.  Had  you  stood  on  the  trail  be- 
fore him  and  made  the  slightest  friendly  overture, 
he  would  have  bent  a  foreleg — the  right  one — and 
offered  you  a  hoof-shake  without  so  much  as  a  nudge 
from  the  rider  who  most  times  was  his  master-mind. 
Contrary  to  the  suggestion  of  his  given  name,  his 
coat  was  not  dotted;  rather,  was  splotched  with  three 
colors — sorrel  and  black  on  a  background  of  white. 


SOME  PLACE  LIKE  HOME  3 

The  extra  splotch  took  him  out  of  the  pinto  class 
and  made  him  a  horse  apart.  And  always  he  gaited 
himself  with  the  distinctive  style  of  the  bold,  black 
spot  beneath  his  left  eye.  This  late  afternoon,  how- 
ever, despite  the  toss  of  his  head  and  swish  of  his  long 
white  tail,  his  manner,  like  his  man's,  was  superficial — 
the  mere  reflex  from  a  habit  of  keeping  up  appearances. 
Circumstances  over  which  he  had  no  control  darkened 
around  him  like  a  swarm  of  horse-flies. 

Below  a  shadow  pool  lured.  Beyond,  the  thin  trail 
beckoned.  Pape  glanced  upward.  A  white  circle  upon 
a  dying  elm — one  of  a  group  that  struggled  for  their 
lives  up  over  the  rocks  forming  the  east  side  of  the 
gorge — caught  his  eye.  Above  he  saw  a  second  white 
circle  upon  a  half- withered  red  birch;  still  higher,  a 
third  upon  a  bald  cypress.  Aware  that  no  elm,  birch, 
or  cypress,  alive  or  half  alive  or  dead,  reproduced  per- 
fect white  circles  on  its  trunk,  he  decided  that  these 
had  been  painted  there  with  a  purpose  by  the  hand  of 
man. 

His  desire  to  follow  a  trail  so  oddly  blazed  was  in- 
dulged as  quickly  as  born.  The  caress  of  one  knee 
against  saddle  leather  and  the  lightest  lift  of  rein  noti- 
fied his  tricolored  steed.  Polkadot  sprang  from  the 
beaten  path  into  an  upward  scramble  over  the  rocks. 
The  going  would  have  advised  the  least  astute  of  moun- 
tain goats  to  watch  its  step.  But  Dot  was  sure-footed 
from  long  practice  over  the  boundary  barriers  of  Hell- 
roaring  Valley. 

When  the  white  blaze  faded  out — when  the  trees 
ceased  to  be  circle-marked — neither  man  nor  mount 


4  LONESOME  TOWN 

would  have  considered  a  stop.  From  appearances,  no 
one  ahorse  had  left  that  gorge  before  by  that  route; 
probably  no  one  \vould  again.  On  and  up  they  moved, 
enticed  by  the  mystery  of  what  might  or  might  not  be 
lurking  at  the  top. 

Across  a  flat  bristling  with  rhododendrons  and  so 
small  as  to  be  accounted  scarce  more  than  a  ledge, 
trotted  the  cow-pony;  insinuated  his  way  through  a 
fringe  of  Forsythia  brush  just  beginning  to  yellow; 
dug  his  shoe-prongs  into  the  earth  of  a  steep,  but  easier 
slope.  Pape,  looking  back,  could  see  through  the  tree 
tips  a  mountainous  range  of  turreted  peaks  and  flat- 
topped  buttes,  terminating  on  the  north  in  a  massive 
green  copper  dome.  The  height  gained,  he  was  in- 
terested by  the  discovery  of  an  unroofed  blockhouse  of 
rough  stone  that  literally  perched  upon  a  precipitous 
granite  hump.  Was  it  a  relic  of  Indian  war-path  days  ? 
Had  the  flintlocks  of  pioneers  spit  defiance  through  the 
oblong  loopholes  inserted  at  intervals  in  its  walls  ?  He 
wondered. 

"You  wouldn't  be  homesick  at  all,  Dot,  if  your 
imagination  had  the  speed  of  your  hoofs,"  he  leaned 
down  to  adjure  his  horse,  after  a  habit  formed  on  many 
a  lonelier  trail.  "Can't  you  just  hear  those  old-fash- 
ioned pop-guns  popping?  No?  Well,  at  least  you  can 
hear  the  dogwood  yapping?  Look  around  you,  horse- 
alive!  Don't  this  scene  remind  you  of  home?  Of 
course  you've  got  to  concentrate  on  things  near  at  hand. 
But  trust  me,  that's  the  secret  of  living  to-day — concen- 
tration. Look  far  afield  and  you'll  lose  the  illusion, 
just  as  you  bark  your  shins  when  you  mix  gaits." 


SOME  PLACE  LIKE  HOME  5 

A  shrill  trill  startled  both ;  centered  Pape's  attention 
on  the  brush  that  edged  the  mesa  to  his  right.  But  the 
quail  he  suspected  was  too  expert  in  the  art  of  camou- 
flage to  betray  its  presence  except  by  a  repetition  of  his 
call,  closer  and  more  imperative  than  the  first. 

"That  bird-benedict  must  be  sized  like  a  sage  hen  to 
toot  all  that.  Maybe  he's  a  Mormon  and  obliged  to  get 
noisy  to  assemble  his  wives." 

This  sanguinary  illusion,  along  with  varied  others 
which  had  preceded  it,  was  dissipated  a  moment  after 
its  inception  and  rather  rudely.  The  trill  sounded  next 
from  their  immediate  rear.  Both  horse  and  rider 
turned,  to  see  pounding  toward  them  a  man  uniformed 
in  blue,  between  his  lips  a  nickel-bright  whistle,  in  his 
right  hand  a  short,  but  official-looking  club.  Of  the 
pair  of  Westerners  who  awaited  the  approach,  one  at 
least  remembered  that  he  was  two-thousand-odd  miles 
away  from  the  Hellroaring  home  range  of  his  over- 
worked imagination;  appreciated  that  he  was  in  for  a 
set-to  with  a  "sparrow  cop"  of  America's  most  met- 
ropolitan police. 

Gasping  from  the  effort  of  hoisting  his  considerable 
avoirdupois  up  the  height  and  sputtering  with  offended 
dignity,  the  officer  stamped  to  a  stand  alongside  an'd 
glared  fearsomely. 

"What  you  mean,  leaving  the  bridle  path?  Say,  I'm 
asking  you!" 

"Horse  bolted."  Pape  parried  with  a  half-truth — - 
Dot  had  sort  of  bolted  up  the  rocks. 

The  official  eye  fixed  derisively  on  the  angora  chaps ; 
lifted  to  the  blue  flannel  shirt;  stopped  at  the  stiff- 


6  LONESOME  TOWN 

brimmed  white  Stetson.  "One  of  them  flim  heroes, 
eh?" 

"Film?  Not  me.  You'll  be  asking  my  pardon, 
brother,  when  you  know  who " 

The  officer  interrupted  with  increasing  belligerence: 
"Trying  to  play  wild  and  woolly  and  never  been  acrost 
the  Hudson  River,  like  as  not!  You  take  an  out-and- 
outer's  advice.  Put  away  them  Bill  Hart  clothes  and 
ride  a  rocking-chair  until  you  learn  to  bridle  a  hoss. 
I've  a  good  mind  to  run  you  in.  Why  didn't  you  mind 
my  whistle?" 

"Honest,  Mr.  Policeman,  I  thought  you  were  a  quail. 
You  sounded  just  like " 

"A  quail — me?  I'll  learn  you  to  kid  a  member  of 
the  Force.  You  climb  down  offen  that  horse,  now,  and 
come  along  with  me  over  to  the  Arsenal." 

"Why  Arsenal?  Do  you  think  I'm  a  big  gun  or  a 
keg  of  powder?" 

"The  Arsenal's  the  33d  Precinct  Station  House. 
Fresh  bird  yourself!" 

The  officer's  look  told  Pape  even  louder  than  his 
words  that  the  time  for  persiflage  had  passed,  unless 
he  really  wished  a  police  court  interval.  He  had  in- 
dulged his  humor  too  far  in  likening  this  overgrown, 
formidable  "sparrow"  to  the  most  succulent  tidbit  of 
the  fowl  species.  He  brought  into  play  the  smooth 
smile  that  had  oiled  troubled  waters  of  his  past. 

"No  offense  meant,  I  assure  you.  It  happens  that 
my  hoss  and  I  are  from  exceeding  far  across  the  river 
you  mention — Montana.  We've  found  your  big  town 
lonesome  as  a  sheep  range.  Fact,  we  only  feel  com- 


SOME  PLACE  LIKE  HOME  7 

fortable  when  we're  sloping  around  in  this  park.  Parts 
of  it  are  so  like  Hellroaring  that " 

"I  can  pinch  you  again  for  cussin',  young  feller !" 

"You  can't  pinch  a  citizen  for  merely  mentioning  the 
geographical  name  of  his  home  valley,  which  same  you 
can  find  on  any  map.  As  I  was  about  to  say,  there  are 
spots  in  this  stone- fenced  ranch  that  make  us  think  of 
God's  country.  Just  now,  when  we  saw  a  trail  blazed 
with  white  circles,  we  plumb  forgot  where  we  were  and 
bolted." 

The  guardian  of  law  and  order  continued  to  look  the 
part  of  an  indignant  butt  of  banter. 

"A  blazed  trail  in  Central  Park,  New  York?"  he 
scoffed.  "You'll  show  me  or  you'll  come  along  to  the 
station !" 

"Why  not  a  blazed  trail — why  not  anything  in  Cen- 
tral Park?" 

Peter  Pape  put  the  question  with  that  grin,  half 
ironic  and  wholly  serious,  with  which  he  had  faced 
other  such  posers  in  his  past.  To  him,  the  West  come 
East,  this  park  was  the  heart  of  the  town — Gotham's 
great,  green  heart.  By  its  moods  it  controlled  the  pulse 
of  rich  and  poor  alike;  showed  to  all,  sans  price  or 
prejudice,  that  beauty  which  is  the  love  of  nature  made 
visible;  inspired  the  most  uncouth  and  unlearned  with 
the  responses  of  the  cultured  and  the  erudite. 

The  human  heart  was  capable  of  any  emotion,  from 
small  to  great.  Any  deed,  then,  might  be  done  within 
the  people's  park. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  TIP  FROM  THE  TOP 

PETER  PAPE  swung  from  the  saddle  and,  pulling 
the  reins  over  Polkadot's  head,  led  the  law's 
"strong  arm"  down  the  heights  over  the  way  he  had 
ascended  on  horseback.  A  glance  into  the  hectic  visage 
beside  him  offered  the  assurance  that,  while  not  yet 
under  arrest,  he  soon  would  be  if  he  failed  to  find  those 
circle-marked  trees. 

"The  town  that  owns  this  park,  now,  should  be  the 
last  to  blame  us  for  mistaking  our  locale,"  he  took 
occasion  to  argue  amongst  their  downward  stumbles. 
"It's  like  a  regular  frontier  wilderness — almost. 
There's  nothing  much  around  to  break  the  solitude  ex- 
cept people — only  about  six  or  seven  million  of  them 
per  day.  And  there's  nothing  to  break  the  silence  ex- 
cept   Listen  to  that  never-ending  drone!  Don't 

it  sound  for  all  the  world  like  the  wind  playing  through 
pines?" 

"Sounds  more  like  motors  to  me — Fords  and  auto- 
mobiles a-playing  over  macadam,"  grumbled  the  guard. 

But  Why-Not  Pape  was  not  easily  to  be  diverted 
from  his  dream.  "And  yon  green  dome  to  the  north 
of  the  range — "  he  lifted  eyes  and  a  hand — "just 

couldn't  look  more  like  the  copper  stain  on  a  butte 

8 


A  TIP  FROM  THE  TOP  9 

within  binocular  range  of  my  Hellroaring  ranch 
house." 

"Lay  off  of  that  irreverence.  You  can't  cuss  at  the 
Cathedral  of  St.  John  the  Divine — not  in  my  presence, 
you  can't!" 

The  topmost  of  the  trail-blazing  trees  Pape  offered 
as  Exhibit  "A"  for  the  defense.  The  line  of  them, 
when  sighted  from  below,  looked  to  be  leading,  he 
declared. 

An  off-duty  grin  humanized  the  official  countenance. 
"White  paint  spots  tell  the  tree  gang  to  saw  down 
dying  trunks  and  haul  the  logs  to  the  saw-mill  over  in 
North  Meadow.  If  you  was  to  follow  all  of  them  as 
bridle  signs  you'd  get  yourself  and  that  gingham  nag 
of  yourn  sentenced  for  life.  This  once  I'm  going  to 
try  to  believe  you're  as  green  as  you  look.  C'mon  down 
to  the  path." 

Their  wait  at  the  equestrian  trail  was  not  long.  A 
traffic  policeman,  mounted  on  a  well-groomed  bay, 
loped  toward  them,  evidently  on 'his  way  back  to  stables 
from  a  tour  of  duty  that,  from  his  magnificent  appear- 
ance, easily  might  have  included  several  .flirtations  and 
at  least  one  runaway  rescue.  At  a  signal  from  his 
fellow  afoot,  he  drew  rein. 

"You'll  be  doing  me  a  favor,  Medonis  Moore,  if 
you'll  shoo  this  bird  outen  the  park,"  wheezed  he  of 
the  whistle.  "I  got  a  date  'sevening  and  Night  Court's 
not  me  rondy-voo." 

"What's  he  gone  and  done,  O'Shay?" 

"Called  me  a  quail  for  one  thing,  which  shows  you 
at  the  start  that-he's  kind  of  off.  I'm  right  many  queer 


io  LONESOME  TOWN 

things,  like  my  lady  friend  tells  me,  but  never  that — 
not  a  quail." 

"Nor  a  quailer  from  duty,  eh  Pudge?" 

Ignoring  the  jibe,  the  weighty  one  went  into  detail. 
"He  rode  his  horse  up  to  the  top  of  the  bluff.  Says 
he's  from  somewheres  far  West.  Framed  up  a  foolish 
excuse  about  believing  in  signs  like  religion.  Says 
them  white  spots  on  the  doomed  trees  was  no  lost  lan- 
guage to  him,  but  a  message  from  the  dead  that  led 
him  wrong.  Get  me — or  him?  Howsomever,  I'm 
willing  to  leave  him  go  this  time  on  account  his  being 
good-natured." 

"Account  of  that  date,  don't  you  mean?" 

The  sparrow  chaser  drew  up  with  dignity.  "Which 
or  whether,  will  you  do  me  the  favor,  Medonis,  of 
shooing  him  out? 

The  colloquy  had  advanced  of  its  own  spirit,  with- 
out interruption  or  plea  from  Why-Not  Pape.  Polka- 
dot  had  improved  the  interim  by  nose-rubbing  an  ac- 
quaintance with  the  "  'Donis"  mount.  Here  at  last 
was  one  of  his  kind  of  whom  he  could  approve.  Even 
though  the  police  horse  showed  to  be  too  much  groomed 
— was  overly  "dressy,"  as  Why-Not  often  said  of 
human  passers-by — his  tail  was  not  docked  and  he  wore 
a  saddle  very  near  "regular,"  certainly  not  one  of  those 
pads  of  leather  on  which  most  of  the  park  riders  posted 
up  and  down  like  monkeys  on  so  many  sticks. 

"Come  along,  bo,"  decided  the  magnificent  director 
of  traffic.  "I'm  weak,  but  maybe  I  can  keep  you  on 
the  crooked  and  narrow  far  as  the  must-you-go  gate."" 

With  a  friendly  farewell  to  the  "sparrow"  who  had 


A  TIP  FROM  THE  TOP  u 

a  "date,"  Pape  rode  off  with  his  new,  enforced  escort, 
Polkadot  and  the  officer's  bay  fell  into  step. 

"Paint  that  horse  yourself?"  inquired  "  'Donis" 
Moore,  with  a  grin. 

This  brought  a  laugh  from  Pape.  "No,  my  friend ; 
he  was  foaled  as  is,  so  far  as  his  colors  go.  He's  just 
mixed  a  bit  like  me,  and  feels  kind  of  lonesome  in  your 
cold  New  York." 

"New  York  cold?" 

"You  see,  Dot  and  I  came  expecting  the  kind  of 
time-of-our-lives  we'd  heard  about.  And  we  haven't 
had  it — not  yet." 

The  handsome  officer,  who  presumedly  had  been 
nicknamed  after  Adonis  by  the  Force,  nodded  under- 
standingly.  "Ain't  the  trouble  with  your  expectations, 
now?  Would  you  be  likely  to  hear  of  those  times-of- 
lives,  if  they  was  the  regular  thing?" 

"But  we're  not  looking  for  the  regular  thing.  And 
why  not  expect?  Don't  you  get  what  you  go  after? 
You,  for  instance — I  should  think  you'd  expect  the 
limit  that  kind  Fate  could  give.  If  I  looked  like 
you " 

There  was  a  sincerity  of  admiration  in  Pane's  lanky 
shrug  and  lapsing  sigh  such  as  "  'Donis"  Moore  evi- 
dently wasn't  fortified  to  resist.  He  turned  his  dark 
eyes  and  fine-cut  profile  to  a  more  detailed  study  of  his 
by-proxy  charge. 

Pape  pursued  the  advantage.  "Sound  looking  crit- 
ter you're  forking,  officer.  What  you  call  him?" 

"Hylan  is  his  name— Traffic  'B.'  " 

"That's  a  new  horse  alias  to  me.     Dot  here  does  a 


12  LONESOME  TOWN 

polka  when  persuaded  right.  If  Highland,  now,  does 
a  fling,  we  might  join  them  in  a  'brother'  act  and  put 
them  on  the  stage." 

"You'll  be  trespassing  the  dignity  of  our  sacred 
mayor,  as  well  as  the  people's  park,  if  you  ain't  care- 
ful," warned  'Donis  Moore.  "H-y-1-a-n  is  what 
I  said  was  his  name  and  he  don't  own  up  to  flings  like 
you  mean  any  more  than  our  chief  executive." 

The  Westerner  looked  interested.  "Named  your 
nag  after  your  boss,  eh?  Not  an  untactful  idea  at  all. 
Hope  hoss  Hylan  explains  to  Polkadot  what  fine  com- 
pany he's  in.  First  real  acquaintance  my  poor  brute's 
met  up  with  since  I  rode  him  out  of  the  home  corral 
and  into  a  baggage  car  which  I  couldn't  hocus-pocus 
him  into  thinking  was  the  latest  in  stables.  I  reckon 
it  was  too  portable.  He'll  be  glad  to  know  that  he  is 
starting  at  the  top  in  equine  circles — with  His  Honor 
the  Mayor's  namesake." 

"You  talk  kind  of  discouraged,  bo.  Just  what's 
gone  wrong?" 

"Nothing's  gone  wrong.  You  see,  nothing's 
started." 

"Then  why  don't  you  start  something?" 

Pape's  attention  looked  much  more  arrested  than  his 
person.  "Start  something?" 

"Sure.  Something,  say,  along  the  partic'aler  line  of 
your  ambitions." 

"The  ambitions  that  have  kept  me  on  the  move  over 
the  four  States  of  my  past  range  wouldn't  lead  me  into 
any  nice  place  in  this  burg  of  rules  and  regulations,  I 
fear.  Even  out  in  God's  country  they  had  to  make 


A  TIP  FROM  THE  TOP  13 

allowance  for  a  lot  I  did.  Here,  seems  like  there's  an 
Indian  sign  hung  on  me.  Not  a  soul  knows  or  cares 
who  or  what  I  am." 

Evidently  interested,  the  police  rider  checked  his 
mount's  manger-bound  trot  to  a  walk,  for  they  were 
nearing  their  division  of  ways. 

"Would  you  be  satisfied,  now,  with  folks  knowing 
who  and  what  you  really  are?"  he  asked  impressively, 
throwing  his  weight  on  the  right  stirrup,  as  he  leaned 
toward  his  charge.  "Who  and  wrhat  do  you  want 
to  be?" 

"Who  doesn't  matter  so  much.  What  I  want  to  be 
is  gay — to  get  as  much  out  of  playing  as  I  do  out  of 
working  when  I'm  home." 

'Donis  Moore  looked  him  over  critically.  "You 
want  to  be  a  gay  bird  and  you  ride  around  looking  like 
the  last  shad  in  the  Hudson !"  Obviously  pleased  with 
his  role  of  mentor,  Donis'  dark,  handsome  face  lighted 
with  his  argument.  "You  see,  bo,  the  people  are  right 
busy  in  this  burg.  They  can't  stop  to  chum  with  stran- 
gers. You  got  to  get  in  step  with  them — insist  on 
chumming  with  them  as  you  swing  along.  First  you 
got  to  look  like  what  you  want  to  be.  Appertainin'  to 
which,  I'd  get  me  some  civilized  togs  if  I  was  you — 
that  is,  if  you  happen  to  have  any  spare  change  in  them 
corduroys." 

"Change?"  enquired  Pape.  "I  let  them  keep  the 
change.  I  could  buy  quite  a  chunk  of  this  town — a 
whole  cold  shoulder  of  it — without  straining  my 
finances.  I  mean  that  and  at  present  prices.  What  I 
haven't  got  is  friends — not  one  among  all  these  mil- 


14  LONESOME  TOWN 

lions  upon  millions  of  effete  folks.  I'm  wondering  if 
the  run  of  the  cards  wouldn't  have  been  some  dif- 
ferent B.  P." 

"B.  P.?  How  come?  I  ain't  no  Greek  studjent  any 
more  than  I'm  a  descendant  of  Anna  Eva  Fay." 

"Before  Prohibition,"  Why-Not  accommodated. 
"But  then,  I  wouldn't  want  the  sort  of  friends  whose 
innards  I  had  to  win  any  more  than  I'd  want  those  I 
could  win  with  my  outards.  Clothes  don't  make  the 
man — or  so  the  poets  say." 

"That  dope's  blank  verse,  young  fellow.  Leastwise, 
the  opposite  holds  in  N'Yawk.  The  wrong  clothes  un- 
make him."  The  cop  dandy  straightened,  with  an  il- 
lustrative, downward  glance  over  his  own  brass-but- 
toned magnificence.  "I'm  giving  it  to  you  right,  bo. 
Unless  you're  a  celeb,  and  have  earned  a  sort  of  special 
license  to  dress  contrary  to  form,  you'd  best  flatter  the 
people  you  wanta  trot  with  by  harnessing  out  as  near 
like  'em  as  possible.  You  been  wearing  that  broad- 
brim on  Broadway?  You  have,  eh?  Don't  you  see 
that  they  just  naturally  take  you  for  a  steerer — likely 
think  you're  wanting  to  sell  'em  stock  in  some  gilt 
mine?  Not  meaning  to  hurt  your  feelings,  I'll  say 
that  the  piebald  you're  riding  is  the  only  O.  K.  thing 
about  you.  Happens  to  be  a  fawncy  of  our  au  fait  cits. 
to  ride  broncs  this  spring.  Seeing  you're  so  careless 
about  your  cash,  you'd  best  throw  some  into  the  talons 
of  a  tailor  and  a  hatter  and  a  near-silk-shirt  grafter. 
Then,  after  you've  got  yourself  looking  something  like 
the  gay  guy  you  say  you  wanta  be,  begin  to  act  like 


A  TIP  FROM  THE  TOP  15 

him.  Do  something,  if  you  get  me,  to  make  'em  notice 
you." 

They  parted  at  the  "Remember  the  Maine"  monu- 
ment, the  official  mentor's  argument  duly  paid  for  in 
thanks,  and  a  "good-luck"  hope  exchanged. 

What  could  he  do  to  make  New  York  notice  him? 

Peter  Pape  pondered  the  question  as  Polkadot 
dodged  through  Columbus  Circle's  whirligig  of  traffic 
— a  feat  which  took  all  the  skill  acquired  in  cutting  out 
steers  from  range  round-ups.  The  disinterested  source 
of  the  invited  advice  recommended  its  substance.  Be- 
fore he  had  walked  his  mount  a  block  down  The  Way 
he  had  decided  to  follow  it.  Its  first  half — the  acquire- 
ment of  the  outer  habiliments  of  sophistication — easily 
could  be  acted  upon  through  the  freecoinage  of  gold. 
The  second  half 

How  make  the  big  town  wish  to  be  friends  with 
him? 

To  himself  he  admitted  the  reason  back  of  his  con- 
fidence to  the  friendly  Medonis  of  the  Mounted.  The 
very  seriousness  of  his  score-squaring  mission  to  the 
"cold"  burg,  made  him  ambitious  to  be  taken  for  that 
"gay  guy"  who  must  be  haberdashed  into  his  part — a 
Western  gold-fish  come  East  to  flap  his  fins  in  the  Big 
Puddle.  He  mustn't  forget  that  he  now  was  a  wealthy 
man,  with  no  obligations  except  one  voluntary  vow  and 
that  to  himself ;  that  he  still  was  young  enough  to  feel, 
as  gay  as  any  costume  could  make  him  look;  that  so 
far  in  life  he  had  proved  strong  enough  to  do  whatever 
he  had  decided  to  do. 

So  what — what? 


16  LONESOME  TOWN 

The  dusk  of  even  this  daylight-saving  hour  was 
thickening.  Pape  urged  his  mount  into  the  rack  of 
Times  Canon.  There,  toward  the  convergance  of  each 
street,  clumps  of  vehicles  spun  forward,  only  to  stop 
and  lose  all  they  had  gained  at  the  command  of  traffic 
signals.  Variously  bound  surface  cars  clattered 
through;  clanged  with  self-importance;  puffed  with 
passengers.  Pedestrians  darted  this  way,  often,  to 
turn  and  dart  back  that,  in  what  seemed  a  limb-regard- 
less passion  to  get  home  in  the  fewest  possible  seconds. 
Like  flour  upon  the  other  ingredients  in  some  great 
mixing  bowl,  Evening  was  sifted  over  all,  then  stirred 
into  a  conglomerate,  working  mass— dough  to  be 
baked  by  dinner  time. 

The  sensation  rather  than  sight  of  an  overhead  flash 
caused  the  splotched  horse  to  throw  back  his  head  with 
a  snort  and  the  rider  to  hang  his  gaze  on  high.  Un- 
expectedly, as  happen  most  miracles,  a  blaze  lit  the 
ungeometrical  square  and  searched  the  lowering 
clouds — millions  of  watts  bottled  in  bulbs — a  fan-fare 
of  nitrogen  dyed  red,  yellow,  blue,  green  and  diamond- 
white — incalculable  volts  of  power  wired  into  legible 
array. 

The  gray  eyes  of  the  Westerner  upheld,  fascinated, 
to  this  sight  of  Broadway's  electric  display,  to  him  the 
marvel  of  the  marvels  of  to-day.  Always  was  his 
pulse  stirred  by  it  and  his  imagination  set  apace.  As, 
when  a  child,  he  had  pored  over  the  lurid  illustrations 
of  his  fairy-book,  so  now  nightly  he  pored  over  this 
real-life  picture.  For  him  it  lit  a  bridle  path  into  by- 


A  TIP  FROM  THE  TOP  17 

ways  of  the  unknown — into  the  highway  of  the  im- 
possible. 

A  moment  before  a  problem  had  darkened  his  brow. 
Now  the  darkness  was  displaced  by  light.  Over  the 
suggested  answer  to  the  unanswerable  he  exulted. 
What  was  difficulty  of  any  sort  except  illusion?  His 
Fatness  the  Quail — that  is  to  say,  the  park  sparrow 
cop — to-day  had  accused  him  of  believing  too  devoutly 
in  signs.  Yet  what  were  signs  for  if  not  to  point  the 
way? 

His  chuckles  evoked  the  curiosity  of  Polkadot.  Back 
toward  him  waggled  one  white-tipped,  enquiring  ear. 
Willingly,  as  at  all  such  requests  of  his  quadruped  pal, 
he  leaned  to  oblige. 

"Why  not?"  He  laughed  aloud.  ''I  ask  you  that, 
old  hoss — why  not?" 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   SKY  SIGN 

PETER  PAPE  sighed  a  chestful  of  relief.  They 
pulled  on  like  ordinary  pants.  But  of  course  that 
was  what  they  were  expected  to  do.  Weren't  they 
direct  from  the  work  room  of  the  most  expensive 
tailor  he  could  locate  in  Gotham?  Even  so,  he  had 
inserted  his  silk-socked  toes  into  their  twin  tunnels 
with  some  foreboding.  They  were  different,  these 
long,  straight  leg-sheaths  of  his  first  full-dress  suit. 

There.  The  secret  is  out.  Our  East-exiled  West- 
erner had  followed  advice.  Praying  that  news  of  his 
lapse  never  would  wing  back  to  Hellroaring,  he  had 
submitted  himself  to  measurements  for  a  claw-ham- 
mer, known  chiefly  by  rumor  on  the  range  as  a 
"swallow-tail."  The  result  had  been  delivered  late  that 
afternoon,  one  week  since  the  signs  of  Broadway  had 
directed  him  aright.  The  suit  had  seemed  in  full  pos- 
session of  the  dressing  room  of  his  hotel  suite  when 
he  had  returned  from  his  usual  park-path  sprint  on 
Polkadot,  an  event  to-day  distinguished  by  the  whip- 
cord riding  breeches  of  approved  balloon  cut  which 
had  displaced  his  goat-skin  chaps.  Somehow  it  helped 
to  fill  an  apartment  which  hitherto  had  felt  rather 
empty;  with  its  air  of  sophistication  suggested  the 


THE  SKY  SIGN  19 

next  move  in  the  role  for  which  it  was  the  costume 
de  luxe. 

The  trousers  conquered  in  combat,  Pape  essayed  to 
don  the  stiff-bosomed  shirt  which,  according  to  the 
diagram  pinned  on  the  wall  picturing  a  conventional 
gentleman  ready  for  an  evening  out,  must  encase  his 
chest.  His  chief  conclusion,  after  several  preparatory 
moments,  was  that  the  hiring  of  a  valet  was  not  ade- 
quate cause  for  a  lynching  with  the  first  handy  rope. 
No.  There  were  arguments  pro  valet  which  should 
stay  the  hand  of  any  one  who  ever  had  essayed  to  enter 
the  costume  de  luxe  of  said  conventional  gentleman. 
What  those  patent  plungers  of  his  real  pearl  studs 
couldn't  and  didn't  do!  With  the  contrariness  of  as 
many  mavericks,  they  preferred  to  puncture  new  holes 
in  the  immaculate  linen,  rather  than  enter  the  eyelets 
of  the  shirt-maker's  provision. 

But  we  won't  go  into  the  matter.  Other  writers 
have  done  it  so  often  and  so  soul  fully.  The  one  best 
thing  that  may  be  remarked  about  such  trials  of  the 
spirit  is  that  they  have  an  end  as  well  as  a  beginning. 
At  last  and  without  totally  wrecking  the  work  of  the 
launderer,  Why-Not  Pape's  famed  will  to  win  won. 
The  shirt  was  harnessed;  hooked-up;  coupled. 

Now  came  the  test  of  tests  for  his  patience  and  per- 
sistence— for  his  tongue  and  other  such  equipment  of 
the  genus  human  for  the  exercise  of  self-control.  This 
was  not  trial  by  fire,  although  the  flames  of  suppres- 
sion singed  him,  but  by  choking.  Again  he  thought 
tolerantly  of  valets;  might  have  asked  even  the  loan 


20  LONESOME  TOWN 

of  m'lady's  maid  had  he  been  acquainted  personally 
with  any  of  his  fair  neighbors. 

"They'd  ought  to  sell  block  and  tackle  with  every 
box  of  'em,"  he  assured  the  ripe-tomato-colored  car- 
toon of  himself  published  in  the  dresser  mirror. 

Smoothing  out  certain  of  his  facial  distortions,  lest 
they  become  muscularly  rooted,  to  the  ruin  of  his  none 
too  comely  visage,  he  retrieved  a  wandering  son-of-a- 
button  from  beneath  the  radiator  and  returned  to  the 
fray  with  a  fresh  strip  of  four-ply.  When  thrice  he 
had  threatened  .out  loud  to  tie  on  a  bandanna  and  let 
it  go  at  that,  by  some  slip  or  trick  of  his  fingers  he 
accomplished  the  impossible.  His  neck  protruded 
proudly  from  his  first  stiff  collar  since  the  Sunday 
dress-ups  of  Lord  Fauntleroy  days — before  the  mother 
and  father  of  faint  but  fond  memory  had  gone,  liter- 
ally and  figuratively  "West,"  leaving  their  orphan  to 
work  the  world  "on  his  own." 

Around  the  collar  the  chart  entitled,  "Proper  Dress 
for  Gents  at  All  Hours,"  dictated  that  he  tie  a  nar- 
row, white  silk  tie.  Anticipating  difficulties  here,  he 
had  ordered  a  dozen.  And  he  needed  most  of  them; 
tried  out  one  knot  after  another  of  his  extensive  reper- 
toire; at  last,  by  throwing  a  modified  diamond  hitch, 
accomplished  an  effect  which  gratified  him,  although 
probably  no  dress-tie  had  been  treated  quite  that  way 
before. 

His  chortle  of  relief  that  he  was  at  ordeal's  end 
proved  to  be  premature.  Peering  coldly  and  pointedly 
at  him  from  across  the  room,  their  twin  rows  of  pop- 
eyes  perpendicularly  placed,  stood  his  patent  leathers. 


THE  SKY  SIGN  21 

Clear  through  his  arches  he  already  had  felt  their  ma- 
liciousness and,  as  the  worst  of  his  trials,  had  left  them 
to  the  last.  All  too  late  he  recalled  the  fact  that  brand 
new  buttoned  shoes  only  meet  across  insteps  and  ankles 
by  suasion  of  a  hook,  even  as  range  boots  yield  most 
readily  to  jacks.  Prolific  as  had  been  the  growth  of  his 
toilet  articles  since  a  week  ago,  that  small  instrument 
of  torture  was  not  yet  a  fruit  thereof.  Further  delay 
ensued  .before  response  to  the  order  which  he  tele- 
phoned the  desk  for  "one  shoe-hooker — quick." 

Peter  Stansbury  Pape  had  emerged  from  the  West 
of  his  upgrowing  and  self-making  with  two  projects 
in  view — one  grave,  one  much  less  so.  The  grave, 
when  its  time  came,  would  involve  a  set-to  in  the  street 
called  Wall  with  a  certain  earnest  little  group  of 
shearers  who,  seeming  to  take  him  for  a  woolly  lamb, 
almost  had  lifted  his  fleece.  Animated  by  a  habit  of 
keeping  his  accounts  in  life  square,  steady  in  his  stand 
as  the  mountain  peaks  that  surrounded  his  home  ranch, 
his  courage  fortified  against  fear  because  he  recognized 
it  at  first  sight  and  refused  to  yield  to  it,  he  was  biding 
the  right  time  to  betake  himself  "down-town"  for  the 
round-up  reckoning.  But  of  all  that,  more  anon. 

His  "less  so"  was  to  learn  life  as  it  is  lived  along 
Gay  Way,  although  he  had  made  no  promise  to  him- 
self to  become  a  part  thereof.  A  sincere  wish  to  ex- 
plore the  greatest  Main  Street  on  any  map,  whose  deni- 
zens so  far  had  shown  themselves  elusive  as  outlaw 
broncs  to  a  set-down  puncher,  had  moved  him  to  ac- 
ceptance of  the  suggestion  of  'Donis  Moore. 

While  awaiting  the  pleasure — or  the  pain — of  the 


22  LONESOME  TOWN 

shoe-hook,  he  considered  the  indifference  of  his  recep- 
tion at  the  Astor,  a  hotel  selected  for  its  location  "in 
the  heart  of  things."  In  the  heart  of  things — in  the 
thick  of  the  fight — in  the  teeth  of  the  wind — right  there 
was  where  Pape  liked  best  to  be.  But  the  room-clerk 
had  seemed  unimpressed  by  his  demand  for  the  most 
luxurious  one-man  apartment  on  their  floor  plan.  The 
cashier  had  eyed  coldly  the  "herd"  of  New  York  drafts 
which  he  had  offered  for  "corralling"  in  the  treasury 
of  the  house.  Clerks,  elevator  boys,  even  the  dry-bar 
tenders  had  parried  his  questions  and  comments  with 
that  indifferent  civility  which  had  made  this  world, 
said  to  be  the  Real,  seem  false  as  compared  with  his 
hale  and  hearty  Out- West. 

The  reply  to  his  first  inquiry,  anent  hotel  stable  ac- 
commodations for  the  intimate  equine  friend  who,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  had  accompanied  him  on  an  Ameri- 
can Express  Company  ticket,  had  been  more  of  a  shock 
to  him  than  the  height  of  Mt.  Woolworth,  first  seen 
while  ferrying  the  Hudson.  Mr.  Astor's  palace,  he 
was  told,  had  a  garage  of  one-hundred-car  capacity,  but 
no  stable  at  all,  not  even  stall  space  for  one  painted 
pony.  There  were  more  rooms  in  the  "one-man"  suite 
than  he  knew  how  to  utilize  in  his  rather  deficient  home 
life,  but  the  idea  of  attempting  to  smuggle  Polkadot  to 
the  seventh  landing,  as  suggested  by  the  boast  of  a 
more  modern  hostelry  that  it  elevated  automobiles  to 
any  floor,  was  abandoned  as  likely  to  get  them  both 
put  out.  He  had  tramped  many  side-street  trails  be- 
fore he  had  found,  near  the  river,  the  stable  of  a  con- 
tractor who  still  favored  horses.  Only  this  day  had 
he  learned  of  a  riding  academy  near  the  southern  fringe 


THE  SKY  SIGN  23 

of  Central  Park  where  the  beast  might  be  boarded  in 
style  better  suited  to  his  importance  in  one  estimation 
at  least. 

It  is  a  pleasure  to  state  that  money  really  didn't 
matter  with  Pape;  in  any  calculable  probability,  never 
would.  That  constitutional  demand  of  his — why  not, 
why  not? — had  drilled  into  certain  subterranean  lakes 
beneath  the  range  on  which  his  unsuspecting  cattle  had 
grazed  for  years ;  had  drilled  until  fonts  of  oleose  gold 
had  up-flowed.  For  months  past  his  oil  royalties  liter- 
ally had  swamped  the  county-seat  bank.  He  had  been 
forced  to  divert  the  tide  to  Chicago  and  retain  an  at- 
torney to  figure  his  income  tax.  Upon  him — in  the 
now,  instead  of  the  hazy,  hoped-for  future — was  the 
vacation  time  toward  which  he  had  toiled  physically 
through  the  days  of  the  past  and  through  the  nights 
had  self-trained  his  mind  with  equal  vigor. 

The  time  had  come.  But  the  place — well,  so  far, 
America's  Bagdad  had  offered  nothing  approaching 
his  expectations.  Perhaps  the  fault  had  been  in  his 
surface  unfitness  for  the  censorious  gaze  of  the  Bag- 
dadians.  Perhaps  clothes  had  unmade  his  outer  man 
to  folks  too  hurried  to  learn  his  inner.  However, 
thanks  to  the  official  Sage  of  Traffic  Squad  "B,"  he 
now  had  remedied  superficial  defects. 

In  truth,  any  one  fairly  disposed  who  saw  his  de- 
scent of  the  Astor's  front  steps,  would  have  conceded 
that.  Despite  the  vicissitudes  of  preparation,  the  re- 
sult was  good.  A  tall,  strong-built,  free-swinging 
young  man  came  to  a  halt  at  curb's  edge,  a  young  man 
immaculately  arrayed,  from  silky  top  of  hat  to  tips  of 
glistening  boots.  His  attention,  however,  was  not 


24  LONESOME  TOWN 

upon  the  impression  which  he  might  or  might  not  be 
making.  Having  done  his  best  by  himself,  he  was  not 
interested  in  casual  applause.  There  was  a  strained 
eagerness  in  his  eyes  as,  leaning  outward,  he  peered 
up  The  Way. 

The  night  was  cloudy,  so  that  the  overhead  dark- 
ness of  eight-thirty  was  not  discounted  by  any  far-off 
moon  or  wan-winking  stars.  The  sky  looked  like  a 
black  velvet  counter  for  the  display  of  man-made  jewel- 
ry— Edison  diamonds  in  vast  array — those  great,  vul- 
gar "cluster  pieces"  of  Stage  Street. 

And  high  above  all  others — largest,  most  brilliant, 
most  vulgar,  perhaps — was  a  trinket  transformed 
from  some  few  bubbles  of  oil,  the  latest  acquisition  of 
one  Westerner. 

There  it  was — there  it  was!  Pape  chortled  aloud 
from  the  thrill  of  first  sight  of  it.  Cryptic  and  steady 
it  blazed,  overtopping  a  quick-change  series  of  electric 
messages  regarding  the  merits  of  divers  brands  of 
underwear,  chewing  gum,  pneumatic  tires,  corsets, 
automobiles,  hosiery,  movies  and  such.  His  heart 
swelled  from  pride,  his  pulse  quickened  and  his  mind 
lit  as  he  viewed  it.  The  while,  his  lips  moved  to  the 
words  emblazoned  within  its  frame  of  lurid,  vari- 
colored roses. 


WELCOME 

TO   OUR   CITY 
WHY-NOT  PAPE 


While  yet  he  stood  at  the  curb  a  limousine,  doubt- 
less theater-bound,  was  halted  in  the  traffiic  crush  be- 


THE  SKY  SIGN  25 

fore  him.  He  saw  a  bobbed,  dark  head,  bound  by  a 
pearl  filet  with  an  emerald  drop,  protrude ;  saw  a  point- 
ing, bejeweled  finger;  heard  clearly  the  drawled  com- 
ment: 

"More  likely,  some  new  food  for  the  fat,  dar-rling. 
Remind  me  to  tell  mother.  She  gained  whole  ounces 
on  that  last  chaff  she  choked  down.  The  poor  dear  is 
losing  her  pep— starving  worse  than  any  Chinese  baby 
that  ever " 

The  heavy  car  was  crawling  on  toward  its  next  stop. 
But  Pape  was  spared  any  regrets  in  nearer  diversion 
as  he  drifted  along  with  the  tide  of  pavement  passers. 
In  slowing  to  keep  off  the  heels  of  a  couple  ahead,  he 
eaves-dropped  a  woman's  demand  of  her  escort: 

"Now  what,  do  you  imagine,  is  Why-Not  Pape?  I 
do  detest  mysteries,  although  I  suppose  they're  the 
only  way  to  get  the  public  nowadays.  Personally,  I 
haven't  any  use  for  women  that  won't  tell  their  ages, 
have  you  ?  I  never  read  serial  stories  and  simply  can't 
stand  those  suppressed  men  that  some  girls  rave  about. 
The  reason  you  make  a  hit  with  me,  Jimmie,  is  be- 
cause you're  so  frank,  so  natural,  so  sort  of  puppy-like. 
Oh,  don't  bother  getting  sore!  You  know  by  this 
time  that  I " 

What  was  Why-Not  Pape,  indeed?  Soon  as  the 
analytical  lady  strayed  from  the  vital  subject  to  that 
of  her  ingenuous  companion,  the  author  of  the  latest 
Broadway  riddle  passed  on,  a  breaker  on  the  edge  of 
the  down-sweeping  tide  of  theater-goers,  actor  folk 
out  of  work  and  inevitable  window  shoppers.  Of  the 
several  he  overheard  querying  the  new  sign,  none 
guessed — as  none  do  in  most  real-life  mysteries — that 


26  LONESOME  TOWN 

they  were  jostling  elbows  with  the  quite  palpable  solu- 
tion. His  upward  stare  attracted  a  direct  remark  from 
a  pavement  companion. 

"You'll  read  the  answer  in  the  newspapers  soon. 
Nobody  nor  nothing  is  going  to  burn  real  money  for 
long  in  that  make-you-guess  display." 

Pape  was  startled.  Would  the  press  take  him  up — 
possibly  in  time  pique  the  public  interest  to  such  extent 
that  he  might  need  to  blaze  forth,  within  his  rose- 
border,  answers  to  the  questions  he  had  raised?  If 
soothe  coveted  recognition  might  be  considered  won. 

But  he  did  not  need  to  tell  New  York  what  or  who 
he  was,  to  congratulate  himself.  None  would  have 
excuse  hereafter  to  regard  lightly  an  introduction  to 
Why-Not  Pape.  Even  though  inadvertently,  already 
the  city  was  welcoming  him. 

His  one  regret  anent  the  bough t-and-paid- for  greet- 
ing was  that  it  did  not  include  the  worthy  Polkadot. 
He  had  considered  a  design  of  a  light-pricked  figure 
of  himself  mounted,  the  horse  done  in  natural  colors, 
only  abandoning  it  when  informed  that  black  was  not 
effective  in  Edison  bulbs.  At  that,  the  bronc  shied  at 
a  glare  and  down  in  his  horse  heart  would  not  have 
liked  such  presentment  had  he  seen  and  understood. 

And  the  simpler  conceit  seemed  to  be  attracting  a 
sufficiency  of  attention.  As  well  it  might — well  it 
might!  So  Peter  Pape  assured  himself,  beaming  back 
and  up  at  it.  The  Mayor's  Committee  for  the  Enter- 
tainment of  Distinguished  Strangers  couldn't  have 
done  better  by  him.  And  any  prima  donna  must  have 
been  pleased  with  that  floral  frame. 


CHAPTER  IV 

DOUBLE  FOCUS 

A  MAN  of  action  does  not  loiter  all  evening  re- 
turning his  own  howdy-doo  to  himself — not  in 
his  first  evening  outfit.  At  Forty-second  Street  Pape 
cast  a  last  look  at  the  sign  in  which  he  felt  by  now 
devout  belief,  doubtless  one  of  the  most  costly  and 
colorful  ever  flaunted  before  New  York.  Certainly  it 
was  self-advertisement  raised  to  the  nth  power  and 
worthy  any  one's  consideration.  Yet  the  obligation  to 
escort  his  new  suit  somewhere  was  on  him. 

Where?  To  one  of  the  cinematograph  houses  in- 
viting from  every  compass  point?  Unthinkable.  To 
the  dance  hall  up  the  street,  decorated  in  artificial 
cherry  blossoms,  where  partners  to  suit  the  individual 
taste  might  be  rented  by  the  hour?  Not  in  these 
clothes  of  class.  To  one  of  the  "girl"  shows?  He  had 
seen  sufficient  of  them  to  realize  more  interest  in  sisters 
in  the  prevailing  demi-habille  of  the  street.  To  some 
romantic  play?  The  heroes  of  such,  sure  to  be  admir- 
able in  looks  and  conduct,  always  got  him  in  a  dis- 
couraged state  of  mind  about  himself. 

In  his  quandary  Pape  had  approached  a  dignified, 
sizable  building  of  yellow  brick  and  now  stopped  be- 
fore a  plain- framed  poster  which  named  the  pile  as 

27 


28  LONESOME  TOWN 

the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  within  which  Geral- 
dine  Farrar  was  singing  Zaza  that  night — that  mo- 
ment probably.  Grand  opera!  He  was  impressed  by 
the  conviction  that  he  and  his  new  suit  had  been  led 
blindly  by  Fate,  who  never  before  in  his  experience  had 
shown  more  horse,  or  common,  sense. 

He  made  for  the  box  office.  The  hour  was  late,  or 
so  he  was  informed  by  the  man  at  the  window.  The 
curtains  had  been  drawn  aside  many  minutes  before; 
were  about  to  close  again.  The  fashionable  subscribers 
were  seated.  Wasn't  he  able  to  see  that  even  the  S. 
R.  O.  sign  was  up  outside? 

Standing  room  was  not  what  Pape  wanted — not 
with  those  patent  pincers  on  his  feet.  Matter  of  fact, 
he  wouldn't  have  considered  a  stand-up  view  of  any- 
thing. Before  paying  for  the  best  orchestra  seat  they 
had — didn't  matter  about  the  price — he'd  like  to  know 
who  was  Zaza,  just  as  folks  outside  were  asking  what 
was  Why-Not. 

The  look  of  the  man  at  the  window  accused  him  of 
being  mildly  insane.  "Zazcts  Zasa,"  he  observed,  as 
he  turned  to  his  accounts. 

"Naturally,"  Pape  replied.  "But  why  not's  not  al- 
ways why.  What  I  want  to  ask  you  is " 

"Leslie  Carter  play  of  same  name  set  to  music — not 
jazz — by  French  composer.  House  is  packed  to  the 
roof  to-night,  as  I've  been  trying  to  tell  you  from  the 
start." 

Before  Pape  could  offer  other  insistence  he  felt  him- 
self displaced  before  the  window  by  a  personage  dis- 
guised in  ornate  livery. 


DOUBLE  FOCUS  29 

"Mrs.  Blackstone  can't  attend.  Sudden  death,"  said 
the  personage.  "She'd  be  obliged  if  you  could  sell 
these  tickets  and  credit  her  account." 

"It  is  not  Mrs.  Blackstone  herself  who  died?"  was 
the  official's  cold  query. 

"Indeed,  no.  She  knows  it's  late,  sir,  but  she'd  be 
obliged  if  you " 

"I'll  oblige  her  if  the  money  changer  won't,"  Pape 
interrupted.  "I'll  take  a  ticket." 

The  autocrat  of  the  box  office,  however,  shook  his 
head.  "Mrs.  B's  box  is  grand  tier.  Can't  be  split 
Six  chairs." 

From  what  so  far  had  seemed  a  mere  human  huddle 
within  one  of  the  entrance  doors,  an  eager  figure 
hurried,  just  behind  an  eager  voice. 

"We  are  five  person.  How  much  dollar  for  five 
seats  of  thees  box?" 

At  the  little,  oldish  foreigner  in  large,  newish  ready- 
mades,  Fate's  unhandyman  looked;  then  on  past  the 
emotion ful  face  to  following  emotionful  faces.  The 
human  huddle  had  disintegrated  from  a  mass  of  de- 
spair into  animated  units  which  now  moved  toward  the 
box  office  as  toward  a  magnet.  Sounds  of  as  many 
magpies  filled  the  dignified  silence — two  French  women 
and  three  men  venting  recitatives  of  hope  that  yet  they 
might  hear  the  Leoncavallo  masterpiece.  But  them, 
too,  the  ticket  man  discouraged,  doubtless  the  more 
emphatically  because  of  their  attire,  which  was  poor, 
if  proud. 

"Too  much  for  your  party,  I'm  sure.  One-hun- 
dred-fifty." 


30  LONESOME  TOWN 

"But  not  for  my  party,"  Pape  interposed.  "I'll  take 
the  whole  half  dozen." 

The  sole  so- far  thing  to  impress  the  assistant  treas- 
urer was  the  roll  from  which  the  emergency  cash  cus- 
tomer began  to  strip  off  bank  notes.  The  recitative  of 
hope  soughed  into  a  chorus  of  disappointment  as  the 
moneyed  young  man  clutched  his  half  dozen  tickets  and 
started  for  the  inner  door.  Scarcely  could  he  restrain 
himself  from  out-loud  laughter  as  he  halted  and  turned 
to  command: 

"Get  a  hurry  on,  party!  At  one-and-fifty  there'd 
ought  to  be  better  paries  z/0WxS  places  inside." 

Perhaps  his  inclusive  gesture  was  more  comprehen- 
sive to  them  than  his  words ;  at  any  rate,  his  grin  was 
eloquent. 

To  his  sublet  box  by  way  of  the  grand  staircase  Peter 
Stanbury  Pape,  grand  opera  patron,  strode  at  the 
usher's  heels ;  into  it,  himself  ushered  his  agitated,  mag- 
pie covey  of  true  music-lovers.  Well  to  one  side  he 
slumped  into  the  chair  assigned  to  him  by  common 
consent  and  found  an  inconspicuous  rest  for  the  more 
tortured  of  his  feet. 

Leaning  forward,  he  undertook  to  get  his  bearings; 
concentrated  on  the  dim  and  distant  stage  set,  where 
a  lady  chiefly  dressed  in  an  anklet  and  feathered  hat 
— presumedly  Zaza  of  the  title  role  from  the  way  she 
was  conducting  herself — seemed  to  be  under  great 
stress  of  emotion  set  to  song.  Before  he  could  focus 
his  glasses — one  of  the  pairs  for  all  hands  round  which 
he  had  been  persuaded  to  rent  at  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case— the  orchestra  took  control  and  the  red  velvet 


DOUBLE  FOCUS  31 

curtains  came  together  between  the  intimate  affairs  of 
the  great  French  actress  and  those  of  the  many — of 
the  great  American  audience. 

After  curtain  calls  had  been  duly  accorded  and  rec- 
ognized and  there  no  longer  existed  any  reason  for  the 
half-light  cloak  of  a  doubtful  song-story,  the  vast  audi- 
torium was  set  ablaze.  And  with  the  illumination  up- 
rose a  buzz  of  sound  like  nothing  that  Pape  ever  had 
heard — more  like  the  swarming  of  all  the  bees  in  Mon- 
tana within  an  acre  of  area  than  anything  he  could 
imagine. 

Full  attention  he  gave  to  the  entre-acte  of  this,  his 
first  adventure  in  Orphean  halls.  Regretting  the  trusty 
binoculars  idling  on  his  hotel  bureau,  he  screwed  into 
focus  the  rented  glasses;  swept  the  waving  head-tops 
of  the  orchestra  field  below;  lifted  to  the  horse-shoe 
of  the  subscribers  and  then  to  the  grand  tier  boxes 
with  their  content  of  women  whom  he  assumed  to  be 
of  society,  amazingly  made  up,  daringly  gowned,  lav- 
ishly bedecked  with  jewels,  ostrich  feathers  and  aig- 
rettes. A  sprinkling  of  men,  black-togged  on  the  or- 
der of  himself,  made  them  the  more  wondrous  dazz- 
ling. A  moving,  background  pageant  of  visitors  paid 
them  court. 

After  a  polite,  if  rather  futile,  attempt  to  mix  his 
English,  as  spoken  for  utility  in  Montana,  with  the 
highly  punctuated,  mostly  superfluous  French  of  his 
overly  grateful  "party,"  Pape  left  them  to  their  own 
devices.  These  seemed  largely  to  take  the  form  of 
dislocating  their  necks  in  an  effort  to  recognize  pos- 
sible acquaintances  in  the  sea  of  faces  which  the  gal- 


32  LONESOME  TOWN 

lery  was  spilling  down  from  the  roof.  Remembering 
his  advice  to  Polkadot  over  the  value  of  concentration 
on  the  near-by,  he  centered  his  attention  upon  those 
labeled  in  his  mind  as  the  "hundred-and-fifty  simo- 
leon"  class.  His  thoughts  moved  along  briskly  with 
his  inspection. 

Women,  women,  women.  Who  would  have 
imagined  in  that  he-man  life  he  had  lived  on  ranches 
West  that  the  fair  were  so  large  a  complement  of 
humanity  or  that  so  many  of  them  indeed  were  fair? 
Had  he  lost  or  gained  by  not  realizing  their  im- 
portance ?  Suppose  his  ambition  had  been  to  furbelow 
one  such  as  these,  could  he  have  given  himself  to  the 
lure  of  making  good  on  his  own — faithfully  have 
followed  Fate's  finger  to  rainbow's  end? 

However  that  might  be,  now  that  he  was  freed  from 
slavery  to  the  jealous  jade  by  the  finding  of  that  auto- 
matically refilling  pot  of  liquid  gold,  might  he  not 
think  of  the  gentler  companionship  which  he  had 
lacked  ?  The  chief  thing  wrong  with  to-night,  for  in- 
stance, was  the  selection  by  chance  of  the  women  in 
his  box.  They  did  not  speak  his  language — never 
could.  Had  there  been  a  vacant  chair  for  him  to  offer 
some  self -selected  lady,  which  one  from  the  dazzling 
display  before  him  would  she  be? 

Perhaps  the  most  ridiculous  rule  of  civilized  so- 
ciety— so  he  mused — was  that  limiting  self -selective- 
ness.  In  the  acquirement  of  everything  else  in  life 
— stock,  land,  clothes,  food — a  person  went  thoroughly 
through  the  supply  before  choosing.  Only  in  the  mat- 
ter of  friends  must  he  depend  upon  accident  or  the 
caprice  of  other  friends.  How  much  more  satisfactory 


DOUBLE  FOCUS  33 

and  straightforward  it  would  be  to  search  among  the 
faces  of  strangers  for  one  with  personal  appeal,  then 
to  go  to  its  owner  and  say :  "You  look  like  my  idea  of 
a  friend.  How  do  I  look  to  you?" 

And,  if  advisable  in  casual  cases,  such  procedure 
should  help  especially  in  a  man's  search  for  his  mate. 
Take  himself,  now,  and  the  emptiness  of  his  life.  His 
bankers  had  told  him  he  could  afford  whatever  he 
wanted.  Suppose  he  wanted  a  woman,  what  sort  of 
woman  should  he  want? 

Beauty?  Must  she  be  beautiful?  From  the  quick- 
ening of  his  pulse  as  he  bent  to  peer  into  fair  face 
after  fair  face  with  the  added  interest  of  this  idea,  he 
realized  that  he  enjoyed  and  feared  beauty  at  least  as 
greatly  as  the  most  of  men. 

Class  ?  In  a  flashed  thought  of  his  mother,  a  Stans- 
bury  of  the  Stansburys  of  Virginia,  he  decided  on 
that.  Class  she  must  have. 

And  kind  she  must  be — tested  kind  to  the  core.  Tall, 
healthy,  strong,  of  course.  Graceful  if  possible. 
Gracious,  but  not  too  much  so.  Frank  and  at  the  same 
time  reserved.  Educated  up  to  full  appreciation  of, 
but  not  superiority  to  himself.  Half  boy  and  at  least 
one-and-a-half  girl. 

That  would  be  plenty  to  start  on,  even  for  the  most 
deliberate  and  calculating  of  choosers,  which  he  felt 
himself  dispositionally  as  well  as  financially  fitted  to 
be.  From  what  he  knew  of  the  difficult  sex  in  the 
rough,  he  should  need  time  and  study  to  decide  accu- 
rately just  how  real  were  appearances  in  a  finished 
feminine,  trained  from  infancy,  so  he  had  heard,  to 
cover  all  inner  and  outer  deficiencies.  Plenty  of  time 


34  LONESOME  TOWN 

and  a  steady  nerve — that  was  all  he  should  need  to  learn 
her  nature,  as  he  had  learned  the  tempers  of  the  most 
refractory  of  horses.  By  the  time  he  was  satisfied  as 
to  these  mentally  outlined  points,  others  doubtless 
would  have  suggested  themselves. 

Pape  was  pleased  with  his  theories,  the  first  dressed- 
up  ones  he  had  evolved  on  the  subject.  If  all  men 
would  go  into  this  vital  matter  of  self-selectiveness, 
there  would  he  fewer  prosperous  lawyers,  he  congratu- 
lated himself.  Better  have  a  care  before  marriage  than 
a  flock  of  them — of  another  sort — after.  Firstly,  a 
choice  made  from  personal  preference,  then  the  most 
direct  course  toward  acquaintanceship,  a  deliberate  in- 
spection, a  steady  eye,  a  cool  nerve 

Suddenly  Pape  stiffened,  body  and  mind.  His  gaze 
fixed  on  a  face  within  a  box  on  his  own  level,  some 
ten  or  so  away,  just  where  they  began  to  curve  toward 
the  stage.  The  face  was  young — childlike  in  anima- 
tion and  outline.  Its  cheeks  were  oval  and  flushed,  its 
lips  red-limned  and  laughing,  its  eyes  a  flashing  black. 
And  black  was  the  mass  of  curls  that  haloed  it — cut 
short — bobbed. 

A  brilliant  enough,  impish  enough,  barbaric  enough 
little  head  it  was  to  catch  and  hold  the  attention  of  any 
strange  young  man.  But  that  which  particularly  in- 
terested Pape  was  the  filet  that  bound  it — a  filet  of 
pearls  with  an  emerald  drop. 

She  wasn't  noticing  him — she  who  had  thought  of 
him  but  once  and  then  only  as  some  new  sort  of  anti- 
fat  foodstuff.  But  another  of  her  party,  through 
lorgnetted  opera  lenses,  was.  Pape,  focusing  his  rented 


DOUBLE  FOCUS  35 

pair  for  close  range,  returned  this  other  person's  re- 
gard. The  moment  seemed  long  and  different  from 
other  moments  during  which,  round  glass  eye  into 
round  glass  eye,  they  two  looked. 

At  its  end  Pape  rose  and  left  his  hundred-and-fifty- 
simoleon  box.  His  exit  was  retarded,  but  not  once 
actually  halted,  by  the  conversational  overtures — some- 
what less  comprehensible  than  before — of  his  unknown 
guests.  He  moved  as  if  under  outside  control,  hyp- 
notic, magnetic,  dynamic. 

True,  he  did  have  a  doubtful  thought  or  two  on  his 
progress  through  the  foyer.  She  might  not  get  his 
advanced  idea  of  to-night  instantaneously  and  might 
be  too  conventional  to  act  on  it,  when  explained.  She 
might  not  give  him  the  benefit  of  every  doubt,  which 
he  was  more  than  ready  to  give  her,  at  first  glance. 
There  might  be  an  embarrassing  moment — particularly 
so  for  him.  She  might  be  married  and  taking  her  hus- 
band seriously.  Speaking  literally,  he  just  ntight  be 
thrown  out. 

But  all  such  thought  he  counter-argued.  What  was 
the  use  of  conviction  without  courage?  Husbands 
were  likely  to  be  met  in  a  one-woman  world ;  were  in- 
convenient, but  not  necessarily  to  be  feared.  And  if 

she  doubted  him But  she  had  the  best  eyes  into 

which  he  ever  had  looked,  with  field  glasses  or  without. 
Why  shouldn't  she  see  all  that  he  was  at  first  glance  ? 
As  for  possible  embarrassment,  wasn't  he  dressed  ac- 
cording to  chart  and  as  good  as  the  next  man?  This 
was,  beyond  doubt,  his  one  best  opportunity  for  the  test 
of  his  theory  of  self-selection.  Why  not  seize  it? 


CHAPTER  V 

ONLY  THE  BRAVE 

REACHING  the  box  which,  according  to  his  count 
of  doors,  should  contain  her,  Peter  Pape  tried 
the  door;  opened  it;  stepped  into  and  across  the  small 
cloak-room;  looked  through  the  brocaded  hangings  of 
the  outer  box.  There  she  sat,  just  behind  the  bobbed 
youngster,  an  example  of  how  different  one  black- 
haired  girl  can  look  from  another.  Her  eyes,  of  the 
blue  of  tropic  seas — calm,  deep,  mysterious — opened  to 
his  in  surprise.  He  felt  the  other  eyes  in  the  box  upon 
him,  five  pairs  in  all.  But  he  looked  only  into  hers — 
into  the  eyes  that  had  summoned  him. 

Quick  at  detail,  he  appreciated  at  a  glance  more  than 
the  general  effect  of  her.  Her  gown  was  of  silver  lace, 
a  moonlight  shimmer  that  lent  a  paling  sheen  to  her 
shoulders  and  arms.  She  wore  no  ornaments,  except 
a  cluster  of  purplish  forget-me-nots.  As  if  one  could 
forget  anything  about  her !  Forget  those  long,  strong 
lines  of  her,  not  too  thin  nor  yet  too  sturdy — those 
untinted  cheeks  of  an  oval  blending  gently  into  a  chin 
that  was  neither  hard  nor  weak — those  parted,  defi- 
nitely dented  lips,  their  healthful  red  indubitable — that 
black,  soft,  femininely  long  hair,  simply  parted  and 
done  in  a  knot  on  her  neck  ? 

More  than  at  the  greater  distance,  she  looked  the 

36 


ONLY  THE  BRAVE  37 

sort  he  liked.  Did  she  like  the  looks  of  him?  He 
could  not  voice  the  question  direct,  as  in  his  calcula- 
tions, with  eight  ears  beside  her  own  to  hear.  But  he 
concentrated  on  the  silent  demand  that  she  try  to  do 
so  as  he  crossed  to  her  with  hand  outstretched. 

"I  am  so  glad,"  said  he,  "to  see  you  again." 

Her  hand  relaxed  in  his  clasp.  She  rose  to  her  feet ; 
drew  up  to  the  full  height  of  her  well-poised  slender- 
ness.  Her  expression  was  neither  welcoming  nor  for- 
bidding; rather  was  the  puzzled,  half -ashamed  and 
wholly  honest  look  of  a  child  who  can't  remember. 

"Didn't  you  ask  me  to  come  ?" 

He  bent  to  her  with  the  low-spoken  question;  met 
her  eyes  as  seriously  as  through  the  lenses  a  moment 
since;  waited  breathlessly  for  the  test  of  just  how  fear- 
less and  frank  was  she.  With  hope  he  saw  a  faint 
flush  spread  forward  from  her  ears  and  tinge  delight- 
fully her  pallor.  Already  he  had  felt  the  agitation  of 
it  in  her  finger-tips.  Relief  came  with  her  first  words. 

"Yes,  I  know  I  did,"  she  said. 

She  knew.  Yes,  she  knew.  And  she  had  the  cour- 
age to  say  so.  She  not  only  looked — she  was  the  sort 
he  liked. 

Whether  from  suggestion  of  his  hand  or  her  own 
volition,  she  stepped  with  him  to  the  back  of  the  box. 
He  did  not  give  her  time  to  deny  him,  even  to  himself 
alone.  With  inspired  assurance  he  urged : 

"I  have  crossed  a  continent  to  meet  you.  Don't  let 
your  friends  see  that  you  failed  to  recognize  me  at 
first.  It  takes  only  a  moment  to  know  me.  Give  me 
that  moment." 


38  LONESOME  TOWN 

"Am  I  not  giving  it?"  She  looked  still  puzzled,  still 
flushed,  still  brave.  But  she  withdrew  her  hand  and 
with  it  something  of  her  confidence. 

Would  she  deny  him,  after  all,  once  she  understood  ? 
She  mustn't  be  allowed  to. 

"Give  me  the  moment  toward  which  I've  lived  my 
life,"  he  said.  "You  won't  regret  it.  Look  at  me. 
Recognize  me.  Trust  me." 

During  the  grave  glance  which  she  slanted  slightly 
upward  to  his  six-feet-flat,  she  obeyed;  studied  him; 
seemed  to  reach  some  decision  regarding  him,  just  what 
he  had  to  surmise. 

"The     surprise     of     meeting     you — here — at     the 

opera "  she  began  hesitantly.     "Seeing  so  many 

people,  I  think,  confuses  me.  Somehow,  personalities 
and  places  get  all  scrambled  in  my  memory.  Do  for- 
give me — but  you  are  from " 

"Montana,  of  course,"  he  prompted  her. 

"Oh!"  She  considered.  Then:  "I've  been  to  the 
Yellowstone.  It  was  there — that  we  met?  I  begin 
— to  remember  that " 

"That  I'm_a  personal  friend  of  Horace  Albright,  the 
superintendent,"  he  supplied,  quick  to  seize  the  oppor- 
tunity she  had  made  to  speak  a  true,  good  word  for 
himself.  "Every  one  of  the  Spread-Eagle  Ranger 
force,  from  Jim  McBride  down,  calls  me  by  my  first 
name,  so  you  see  that  I  am  no  tusk-hunter.  You  can't 
have  forgotten  the  snap  of  the  air  on  those  early- 
morning  Y-stone  rides  or  the  colors  of  the  border  peaks 
in  the  afternoon  sun  or " 

"Or  the  spray  of  Old  Faithful,  the  painted  colors  of 


ONLY  THE  BRAVE  39 

the  canon,  the  whole  life  of  the  wild.  Never.  Never," 
she  contributed.  "I  was  fascinated  with  the  breadth 
and  freedom  of  your  West.  Out  there  I  felt  like  Alice 
in  Wonderland,  with  everything  possible." 

His  eyes  reproached  her.  "Everything  is  possible 
everywhere,  even  in  your  narrow,  circumscribed  East. 
I  am  glad  that  you  remember  the  worth-while  things. 
Perhaps,  if  you  try " 

"Jane  dar-rling,  do  you  want  to  sit  brazenly  in  front 
or  modestly  in  back  for  the  second  act  ?  That  first  was 
enough  to  put  the  Mona  Lisa  out  of  countenance.  But 
I've  heard  that  a  little  child  saves  the  second." 

The  interruption  came  from  the  bobbed-haired  girl, 
who,  from  her  repeated  glances  their  way,  evidently 
thought  their  aside  somewhat  protracted. 

So  "Jane"  was  the  favorite,  old-fashioned  name  she 
glorified!  Pape  was  further  thrilled  by  the  touch  of 
her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Do  forgive  me  and  help  me  out,"  she  said  low  and 
hurriedly.  "Some  hypnotist  must  have  given  me  men- 
tal suggestion  that  I  was  to  forget  names.  I  am  con- 
stantly embarrassed  by  lapses  like  this.  Quick — I'll 
have  to  introduce  you." 

"Peter  Pape."     Gladly  he  supplied  the  lack. 

With  considerable  poise  she  announced  him  as  "a 
friend  from  the  Yellowstone,"  who  had  happened  in 
unexpectedly  and  been  reviving  memories  of  that  most 
delightful  summer  she  had  spent  in  the  West.  If  she 
accented  ever  so  slightly  the  "revived  memories"  or 
flashed  him  a  confused  look  with  the  pronouncement 
of  his  name,  none  but  he  noticed.  And  he  did  not  care. 


40  LONESOME  TOWN 

Whether  deceived  by  his  high-handed  play  or  playing 
a  higher  hand  herself,  she  hadn't  thrown  him  out. 
Now  she  wouldn't — couldn't.  He  was  her  "friend" 
from  the  Yellowstone — near  enough  home,  at  that, 
since  Hellroaring  Valley  was  right  next  door.  She 
was  committed  to  his  commitment.  His  theory  was 
proving  beyond  anything  he  could  have  hoped,  had  he 
wasted  time  on  hope  after  evolving  it. 

In  turn  she  named  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel  Allen,  a 
middle-aged  couple  who  supplied  ample  dignity  and 
chaperonage  for  the  younger  element  of  the  box  party ; 
Mr.  Mills  Harford,  a  genial,  sophisticated  and  weJl- 
built  young  man,  who  would  have  been  called  hand- 
some by  one  with  a  taste  for  auburn  hair,  brown  eyes 
and  close-cropped  mustaches;  Miss  Sturgis,  her  little 
cousin — she  of  the  bobbed  hair,  filet  of  pearls  and 
affectionate  address. 

Even  in  her  grown-up,  down-cut  evening  gown  of 
Nile-green,  the  girl  didn't  look  more  than  fifteen — 
couldn't  have  exceeded  nineteen  without  violating  all 
laws  of  appearances.  Despite  her  excessive  use  of 
make-up — blued-over  eyelids,  plucked  brows,  darkened 
lashes,  thick-pasted  lips  and  high-colored  cheeks — 
Cousin  "Irene"  was  quite  beautiful.  And  her  manner 
proved  as  assertively  brilliant  as  her  looks. 

"Mr.     Pape?"     she     demanded     thinkingly. 

"Have  I  met  you  before  or  heard  of  you " 

His  hand  on  his  heart,  he  bowed  toward  her.  "Why- 
Not  Pape." 

She  stared  at  him  much  as  she  had  at  the  sign. 


ONLY  THE  BRAVE  41 

"You  don't  claim  to  be Don't  tell  me  that 

you  are Then  you're  not  a  break  fast- food?" 

"Nothing  so  enlivening.  Not  even  anti-fat,"  he 
apologized  in  broad-smiling  return. 

"Oh — oh!"  she  gasped.  "You  couldn't  have  over- 
heard what  I  said  in  the  car  coming  down?" 

"From  the  curb,  Miss  Sturgis." 

"And  you  recognized  me  here  in  the  box  and  that's 
why —  Dar-rling — "  the  endearment  was  drawled 
with  a  brief  glance  toward  her  relative — "isn't  that 
just  too  utterly  romantic?" 

"I  hope,  Irene,  not  too  utterly." 

Jane's  quiet  reply  started  a  smile  wreathing  around 
the  little  circle,  evidently  of  amusement  over  the  child- 
vamp's  personal  assumption  of  all  honors. 

Samuel  Allen  interposed  in  a  tone  of  butter-melting 
benignity:  "Any  friend  of  Miss  Lauderdale  is  more 
than  welcome  to  our  city  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"Rawther!  And  welcome — thrice  welcome  to  our 
midst,"  the  madcap  again  interpolated,  seizing  one  of 
his  large,  brown  hands  in  both  her  white,  bejeweled, 
small  ones. 

"Dee-lighted!"  Pape  breathed,  returning  the  extra 
shake. 

Indeed,  he  felt  delighted.  She  was  Miss  Jane  Laud- 
erdale, the  reserved,  long-haired  relative  of  this  short- 
haired  enthusiast.  And  she  wore  no  engagement  ring 
— not  any  ring  on  any  finger.  He  could  only  hope 
that  she  had  no  "understanding"  with  the  good-look- 
ing chap  ranged  beside  her.  If  so,  she'd  have  to  be 
made  to  mis-understand.  She  was  more  flustered  over 


42  LONESOME  TOWN 

his  acceptance  of  the  unconscious  invitation  of  that 
long,  strange,  magnified  look  than  she  had  at  first  ap- 
peared. That  showed  in  the  tight  clutch  of  her  fingers 
on  her  feather  fan.  And  she  was  taller  than  he  had 
calculated — just  enough  shorter  than  he  for  ideal  danc- 
ing. One  thing  about  her  he  needed  to  decide,  but 
couldn't.  Did  she  or  did  she  not  know  that  she  didn't 
know  him  ? 

But  he  must  pay  attention.  Irene,  continuing  to 
baby-vamp  him,  waved  him  into  the  chair  beside  that 
into  which  she  had  sunk.  Although  of  necessity  she 
had  dropped  his  hand  she  released  neither  his  interest 
nor  his  eyes. 

"You  must  be  just  a  terribly  important  person  to  be 
flashed  all  over  Broadway  in  that  rosy  wreath.  I  don't 
blame  your  friends,  though,  for  feeling  a  bit  extrava- 
gant over  you.  We  were  talking  about  the  sign  before 
you  came  in — were  guessing  what  kingdom  you  belong 
to,  animal,  vegetable  or  mineral.  Millsy  Harford  here 
held  out  that  you  were  more  likely  some  manufactured 
product  than  anti-fat.  Isn't  it  all  quite  too  funny  for 
anything?" 

"My  folks  used  to  say,  from  the  rate  of  speed  at 
which  I  grew  up — "  Pape  applied  to  his  ready  store  of 
persiflage — "that  I  was  more  like  a  vegetable  than  a  boy. 
/  always  thought  I  was  animal,  judging  by  my  appe- 
tite, you  know.  But  my  life's  been  kind  of  lived  with 
minerals.  Maybe  I'm  all  three." 

"How  interesting."  Mrs.  Allen,  a  lady  faded  to 
medium  in  coloring,  age  and  manner,  turned  from  an 
over-rail  inspection  of  some  social  notable  among  the 


ONLY  THE  BRAVE  43 

horseshoe's  elect  to  survey  him  through  her  lorgnette. 
"Just  why,  if  I  am  not  too  personal,  are  you  called 
'Why-Not?'" 

"My  nickname  about  the  headwaters  of  our  greatest 
river,  madam." 

From  her  look  of  vague  perplexity  Pape  turned  his 
glance  around  the  group  until  it  halted  for  a  study  of 
Jane  Lauderdale's  face — again  Irish  pale,  tropic-eyed, 
illegible.  He  chose  his  further  words  with  care. 

"Guess  I  was  the  first  to  ask  myself  that  question 
after  the  boys  hung  the  sobri.  on  me  and  nailed  it 
there,"  he  said,  addressing  himself  to  none  in  particu- 
lar. "I  made  the  interesting  discovery  that  there 
wasn't  any  answer,  although  there  are  limitless  answers 
to  almost  every  seemingly  unanswerable  question. 
You  see,  when  I  find  myself  up  against  the  impossible, 
I  just  ask  myself  why  not  and  buck  it.  I've  found  the 
impossible  a  boogey-boo." 

"You  call  yourself,  then,  a  possible  person?" 

He  was  not  to  be  discountenanced  by  Jane's  quiet 
insertion. 

"Everything  worth  while  that  I've  got  in  the  past 
I  owe  to  that  belief,"  he  maintained.  "It  happens  that 
I  want  some  few  extras  in  my  near  future.  That's  how 
I'll  get  'em,  from  realizing  that  nothing — absolutely 
nothing — is  impossible." 

Considerable  of  a  speech  this  was  for  him.  Yet  he 
could  see  that  he  had  made  something  of  an  impression 
by  its  delivery.  One  moment  he  marveled  at  his  own 
assurance ;  the  next  wanted  to  know  any  good  and  sub- 
stantial reason  why  he  shouldn't  feel  assured.  He  had 


44  LONESOME  TOWN 

made  himself,  to  be  sure.  But  probably  he  had  done 
the  job  better  than  any  one  else  could  have  done  it  for 
him.  At  least  he  had  been  thorough.  And  his  efforts 
had  paid  in  cash,  if  that  counted. 

A  stir  in  the  house — rather,  a  settling  into  silence — 
presaged  the  parting  of  the  curtains  on  Act  II.  Mills 
Harford  who,  as  had  developed,  was  the  host  of  the 
evening,  began  to  rearrange  the  chairs  to  the  better 
advantage  of  the  fair  of  his  party.  The  interloper  felt 
the  obligation  at  least  of  offering  to  depart.  Irene  it 
was  who  saved  him.  With  a  pout  of  the  most  piquantly 
bowed  pair  of  lips  upon  which  female  ever  had  used 
unnecessary  stick,  she  dared  him  to  wish  to  watch  the 
second  act  with  her  as  much  as  she  wished  him  to. 

Pape  could  not  keep  down  the  thrill  she  gave  him 
— she  and  the  situation.  To  think  that  he,  so  lately  the 
wearer  of  an  Indian  sign,  should  be  begged  to  stay  in 
such  a  circle !  Only  for  a  moment  did  he  affect  reluc- 
tance. During  it,  he  glanced  across  at  the  box  that  was 
his  by  right  of  rental,  with  its  content  of  brightly 
attired  "true-lovers"  blooming  above  the  rail;  smiled 
into  the  challenge  of  the  precocious  child's  black  eyes; 
sank  into  the  chair  just  behind  her. 

"Your  friends  over  there  look  better  able  to  do  with- 
out you  than  I  feel,"  Irene  ventured,  with  an  over- 
shoulder  sigh.  "I  don't  know  who  in  the  world  they 
are,  but " 

"No  more  do  I,  Miss  Sturgis." 

"You  don't?    You  mean " 

"Righto.    Just  met  up  with  'em  in  the  lobby.    They 


ONLY  THE  BRAVE  45 

hadn't  any  seats  and  I  had  more  than  I  could  use  with- 
out exerting  myself." 

"How  nice !  Then  they  have  only  half  as  much  right 
to  you  as  I  have.  You  see,  I,  as  well  as  Miss  Lauder- 
dale,  have  met  you  before." 

"Down  Broadway,  you  mean,  and  although  you 
didn't  know  it?" 

She  nodded  back  at  him  tenderly.  "And  although 
separated  by  circumstances — I  in  the  car  and  you  on 
the  curb.  From  my  cousin's  descriptions,  I  adore 
rangers.  "Don't  I,  dar-rling?" 

"No  one  could  doubt  that,  eh,  Jane?"  Harford 
made  answer  for  Miss  Lauderdale,  whom  he  had  re- 
lieved of  her  fan  with  as  much  solicitude  as  though 
each  ostrich  feather  weighed  a  pound. 

"I  do  really.  Why  not?"  Low  and  luringly  Irene 
laughed.  "You  must  look  awfully  picturesque  in  your 
uniform  of  forest  green,  your  cavalry  hat  and  laced 
boots." 

"Sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  I'm  a  cowman,  not  a 
ranger,"  Pape  thought  advisable  to  state  in  a  tone  cal- 
culated to  reach  the  ears  of  her  responsible  for  his 
presence  in  their  midst.  "But  most  of  the  park  service 
members  are  my  friends.  I  live  on  the  edge  of  the 
playground  and  know  them  right  well." 

The  young  girl  refused  to  have  her  enthusiasm 
quashed.  "Well,  that's  just  as  good.  You  have  their 
spirit  without  being  tied  to  the  stake  of  routine,  as  it 
were.  I  detest  routine,  don't  you?  Or  do  you?  On 
second  thought,  you're  much  better  off.  Don't  you 
think  he  is,  dar-rling?" 


46  LONESOME  TOWN 

In  the  dimming  of  the  auditorium  lights,  she  leaned 
closer  to  him ;  seemed  to  transfer  the  fulsomely  drawled 
term  of  endearment  from  her  relative  to  him;  added 
in  a  cross  between  murmur  and  whisper : 

"Isn't  dar-rling  a  difficult  word — hard  to  say  seri- 
ously? Fancy  caring  that  much  for  any  one — I  mean 
any  one  of  one's  own  sex.  Of  course,  I  hope  really  to 
love  a  man  that  much  some  day.  That  is,  I  do  unless 
I  go  in  for  a  career.  Careers  do  keep  one  from  get- 
ting fat,  though.  As  I  am  constantly  telling  my 
mother " 

"S-sh!" 

Pape  was  relieved  by  Mrs.  Allen's  silencing  sibilant. 


CHAPTER  VI 

JUST  AU  REVOIR 

THE  great  audience  caught  its  breath  and  hope- 
fully returned  attention  to  the  affairs  of  the 
French  actress  who  so  had  shocked  and  fascinated 
them  at  the  first  act's  end.  Stripped  almost  to  the 
waist,  the  daring  and  tuneful  Zaza  had  left  them. 
More  conventionally,  not  to  say  comfortably  clad,  she 
reappeared. 

Pape,  as  deficient  in  French  as  in  appreciation  of 
opera  arias,  applied  himself  hopefully  at  first  to  get- 
ting the  gist  of  the  piece,  but  soon  concluded  that  he 
must  be  clear  "off  trail  in  his  lingo." 

Out  in  Montana,  the  most  meteoric  stage  luminary 
never  would  think  of  singing  a  perfectly  good  wife  and 
mother  into  handing  over  husband  and  father  merely 
because  his  eyes  had  gone  sort  of  blinky  star-gazing  at 
her.  No.  Such  a  translation  didn't  sound  reasonable 
at  all;  was  quite  too  raw  for  the  range.  Better  give 
his  ears  to  the  music  and  buy  a  Hoyle-translated  li- 
bretto to-morrow. 

Settling  back  in  his  chair,  Pape  allowed  his  gaze  and 
mind  to  concentrate,  after  a  habit  acquired  of  late  in 
Central  Park,  upon  the  nearby.  She  had  an  expressive 
profile,  the  young  woman  whom  he  had  self -selected. 
If  facial  traits  had  real  connection  with  character,  that 

47 


48  LONESOME  TOWN 

protruding  chin,  although  curved  too  youthfully  to  do 
justice  to  its  joints,  suggested  that  she  would  not  re- 
treat unless  punished  beyond  her  strength.  If  young 
Irene  only  would  take  one  good  look  at  her  cousin's 
chin  she  must  give  up  in  any  contest  between  them. 

But  then,  Irene's  mental  eye  was  on  herself.  To  her, 
evidently,  all  other  women  were  more  or  less  becoming 
backgrounds. 

That  she  should  be  so  near  him,  Jane;  that  he  ac- 
tually should  get — oh,  it  wasn't  imagination — the  fra- 
grance of  her  hair ;  yet  that  he  should  be  so  far  away ! 
.  .  .  She'd  be  annoyed  and  he  must  not  do  it,  but  he 
felt  tempted  to  train  his  hired  glasses  on  her,  as  she  had 
trained  hers  on  him  only  a  few  minutes  since.  He'd 
have  liked  again  to  draw  her  eyes  close  to  his  through 
their  lensed  aid  and  study  out  the  answer  to  that  teas- 
ing question — did  she  or  did  she  not  know  that  she 
didn't  know  him? 

One  thing  was  clear  in  the  semi-gloom.  Her  neck 
and  shoulders  and  back  looked  more  like  marble  than 
he'd  have  supposed  live  flesh  could  look.  And  her  lines 
were  lovely — not  too  padded  over  to  conceal  the  shoul- 
der blades,  yet  smooth.  Above  the  narrow  part  of  the 
V  of  silver  lace,  a  small,  dark  dot  emphasized  her 
whiteness.  Was  it  a  freckle  or  a  mole? 

Another  than  himself  seemed  interested  to  know. 
The  handsome  Mr.  Harford  was  leaning  forward, 
elbows  on  knees  and  chin  cupped  in  hand,  his  eyes 
closed,  his  lips  almost  touching  the  beauty  spot.  Had 
he  given  up  to  the  welling  wail  of  Zaza's  attempt  to 


JUST  AU  REVOIR  49 

out-sing  conventions  or  was  his  attention,  too,  on  that 
tantalizing  mark? 

Whether  or  no,  Pape  felt  at  the  moment  that  he 
must  prevent  the  imminent  contact  if  he  did  not  live 
to  do  anything  else  in  life.  He,  too,  leaned  forward. 
But  his  eyes  did  not  close.  They  remained  wide  open, 
accurately  gauging  the  distance  between  a  pair  of  sacri- 
legious mustached  lips  and 

Tragedy  was  temporarily  averted  or,  as  it  turned 
out,  supplanted.  An  usher  appeared  between  the  cur- 
tains; in  subdued  tones  asked  for  Miss  Lauderdale; 
held  up  a  square,  white  envelope. 

Jane  arose  and  passed  into  the  cloak  room.  Mills 
Harford  followed  her.  Pape  in  turn,  followed  him. 
Observing  the  girl  closely  as  she  tore  open  the  envelope 
and  read  the  enclosure,  he  saw  alarm  on  her  face ;  saw 
the  sudden  tension  of  her  figure ;  saw  her  lips  lengthen 
into  a  thin  line. 

"Chauffeur  brought  it  He  is  waiting  down  stairs 
for  an  answer,"  the  usher  advised  her. 

"Tell  him,"  she  said,  "that  I'll  come  at  once," 

The  usher  bowed  and  vanished. 

"Anything  wrong,  Jane?"  Harford  asked. 

"I  can't  stay  for  the  last  act.  Aunt  Helene  has 
been — has  sent  for  me." 

As  if  fearful  lest  he  should  insist  upon  knowing  the 
contents  of  her  note,  she  crumpled  it  in  one  hand ;  with 
the  other  reached  for  a  brocaded  cape  that  hung  on  one 
side  of  the  mirrored  rack;  allowed  him  to  anticipate 
her  and  lay  it  about  her  shoulders. 

"I'll  go  with  you,"  said  he. 


50  LONESOME  TOWN 

"No."  She  paused  in  her  start  toward  the  corridor 
and  glanced  into  his  face  uncertainly.  "Tamo  is  wait- 
ing with  the  car.  You  must  see  the  opera  out.  The 
Farrar  probably  has  thrills  and  thrills  saved  for  the 
finale" 

"Not  for  me — without  you.  Of  course  I'll  go  with 
you,  dear." 

The  ardor  of  the  handsome  chap's  last  pronounce- 
ment seemed  to  decide  her. 

"Of  course  you  won't."  She  shook  his  hand  from 
her  shoulder  as  if  offended.  "You  are  giving  this 
party.  You  owe  it  to  the  Aliens  to  stay.  Explain  to 
Irene  and  the  rest  that  I " 

"At  least  let  me  put  you  into  the  car." 

"No."  Positively,  she  snapped  this  time.  "I  don't 
need  you.  I  don't  want  you,  to  be  frank.  You're 
coming  up  to  the  house  to  supper,  all  of  you.  Per- 
haps then  I'll  explain." 

"You'll  explain  on  the  way  up — now." 

Harford  looked  to  have  made  up  his  mind;  looked 
angry.  He  took  her  elbow  rather  forcefully  and 
started  with  her  into  the  corridor. 

On  the  sill  she  stopped  and  faced  him  defiantly.  "I 
won't  explain  until  and  unless  I  wish  to.  You  can't 
use  that  tone  with  me,  Mills,  successful  as  you  may 
have  found  it  with  others.  Mr.  Pape  is  going  to  put 
me  into  the  car." 

And  lo,  the  Westerner  found  himself  by  her  side, 
his  hand  at  her  elbow.  He  had  felt  electrified  by  her 
summons.  Although  not  once  had  she  glanced  toward 
where  he  stood  just  outside  the  curtains,  uncertain 


JUST  AU  REVOIR  51 

whether  to  advance  or  retreat,  she  apparently  had  been 
keen  to  his  presence  and  had  felt  his  readiness  to  serve. 

Their  last  glance  at  Harford  showed  his  face  auburn 
as  his  hair.  They  hurried  down  the  grand  stairway, 
passed  the  regal  doorman  and  queried  the  resplendent 
starter.  His  signal  brought  the  Sturgis  limousine, 
parked  on  Broadway  in  consideration  of  the  emergency 
call.  The  driver,  a  Japanese,  was  alone  on  the  seat 
in  front. 

Jane  had  not  volunteered  one  word  on  the  way  down, 
and  Pape  was  mindful  to  profit  by  the  recent  demon- 
stration of  her  resentment  of  inquiries.  Now,  how- 
ever, he  began  to  fear  that  she  had  forgotten  his  exist- 
ence entirely.  A  nod  from  her  kept  the  chauffeur  from 
scrambling  out.  She  let  herself  into  the  car  and  tried 
the  inside  catch  of  the  door  as  if  to  make  sure  that  she 
was  well  shut  in — alone. 

But  Pape's  habit  of  initiative  overruled  his  caution. 
He  had  fractured  too  many  rules  of  convention  to-night 
to  be  intimidated  at  this  vital  moment.  With  the  same 
sweep  of  the  hand  he  demanded  a  moment  more  of  the 
driver  and  pulled  open  the  door. 

"Of  course  I'm  going  along,  Jane  dear,"  said  he. 

She  gasped  from  shock  of  his  impudence;  a  long 
moment  stared  at  him;  then,  with  a  flash  of  the  same 
temper  she  had  shown  Mills,  returned  him  value  re- 
ceived. 

"Of  course  you're  not,  Peter  dar-rling." 

"Why  not?" 

Stubbornly  he  placed  his  shiny,  large,  hurting  right 
foot  on  the  running-board. 


52  LONESOME  TOWN 

"Because  you're  not  a  possible  person.  You're 
quite  impossible."  And  with  the  waspish  exclamation 
she  leaned  out,  took  him  by  the  coat  lapels  and  literally 
pushed  him  out  of  her  way.  "I  know  that  I  don't  know 
you  at  all.  Did  you  think  you  had  deceived  me  for 
one  instant?  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  scraping  ac- 
quaintance with  strangers,  even  at  grand  opera." 

"But — but "  he  began  stammered  protest. 

"It  was  partly  my  fault  to-night.  I  did  stare  at 
you,"  she  continued  hurriedly.  "You  looked  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  regular  run  of  men  in  black  and  white. 
Maybe  my  curiosity  did  invite  you  and  you  showed 
nerve  that  I  learned  to  like  out  West  by  accepting.  I 
couldn't  be  such  a  poor  sport  as  to  turn  you  down 
before  the  rest.  But  it's  time  now  for  the  good-by  we 
didn't  say  in  the  Yellowstone."  She  turned  to  the 
speaking  tube.  "Ready,  Tamo.  And  don't  mind  the 
speed  limit  getting  home." 

From  the  decision  of  her  voice,  the  man  from  Mon- 
tana knew  that  she  meant  what  she  said.  Never  had 
he  found  it  necessary  to  force  his  presence  upon  a 
woman.  He  stepped  aside,  heard  the  door  pulled  to 
with  a  slam;  watched  the  heavy  machine  roll  away. 
Its  purr  did  not  soothe  him. 

"Not  good-by.    Just  au  revoir,  as  Zaza'd  say." 

That  was  all  he  had  managed  to  reply  to  her.  In 
his  memory  it  sounded  simpering  as  the  refrain  of 
some  silly  song.  He  hadn't  played  much  of  a  part, 
compared  to  hers.  What  an  opponent  she  would  make 
at  stud  poker,  holding  to  the  last  card!  She  was  a 
credit  to  his  judgment,  this  first  woman  of  his  inde- 


JUST  AU  REVOIR  53 

pendent  self -selection.  .  .  .  Good-by?  The  word  she 
had  used  was  too  final — too  downright  Montanan. 
Although  far  from  a  linguist,  as  had  been  impressed 
upon  him  during  his  late  jaunt  overseas,  he  had  learned 
from  the  French  people  to  prefer  the  pleasanter  possi- 
bilities of  their  substitute — of  an  revoir. 

As  to  when  and  where  he  should  see  her  again — 
The  shrug  of  his  shoulders  said  plainly  as  words, 
"Quien  sabe?"  The  lift  of  his  hair  in  the  street  breeze 
caused  him  to  realize  his  bare-headed  state.  A  thought 
of  the  precipitation  with  which  he  had  left  both  hat 
and  coat  on  his  hundred-fifty-simoleon  hook  brought 
a  flash  of  Irene  and  the  outraged  glance  she  had  cast 
toward  his  departure.  She  had  said  that  she  "doted" 
on  all  Westerners.  Perhaps  if  he  returned  to  the  Har- 
ford  box  on  the  legitimate  errand  of  bidding  his  new 
acquaintances  a  ceremonious  good-night  she  might 
come  to  dote  on  him  enough  in  the  course  of  another 
half  hour  or  so  to  invite  him  to  that  supper  which 

In  the  vacuum  left  by  the  sudden  withdrawal  of  the 
evening's  chief  distraction,  he  gave  up  for  a  moment 
to  his  pedal  agony.  He'd  a  heap  rather  return  at  once 
to  his  hotel,  where  he  could  take  off  his  new  shoes.  At 
least  he  could  loosen  the  buttons  of  the  patent  pincers. 
This  he  stooped  to  do,  but  never  did. 

Lying  beside  the  curb  to  which,  from  his  stand  in 
the  street,  he  had  lifted  the  more  painful  foot,  was 
something  that  interested  him — something  small,  white, 
crumpled.  The  overbearing  Miss  Lauderdale  must 
have  dropped  it  in  her  violent  effort  to  shove  him  from 
the  running-board.  Had  her  flash  of  fury  toward  him 


54  LONESOME  TOWN 

been  as  sincere  as  it  had  sounded?  Had  she  left  him 
the  note,  whether  consciously  or  sub,  by  way  of  sug- 
gestion? Under  urge  of  such  undeveloped  possibili- 
ties, Pape  strode  to  the  nearest  light  and  smoothed  out 
the  crumpled  sheet.  It  bore  an  engraved  address  in  the 
eight-hundreds  of  Fifth  Avenue,  and  read : 

JANE,  dear: — Have  just  discovered  the  wall-safe  open. 
That  antique  tabatiere  you  entrusted  to  my  care  is  gone.  I 
can't  understand,  but  fear  we  have  been  robbed.  Don't 
frighten  Irene  or  the  others,  but  do  come  home  at  once. 
Tamo  will  be  waiting  for  you  with  the  car.  Please  hurry. 

AUNT  HELENE. 

So !  She  had  been  robbed  of  some  trinket,  the  very 
threat  of  whose  loss  had  stopped  the  blood  in  her  veins. 
Perhaps  her  predicament  was  his  opportunity  to  ad- 
vance a  good  start.  He  had  all  details  of  the  case 
literally  in  hand,  down  to  the  engraved  house  address. 

Jane  had  proved  herself  the  honest  sort  he  liked  in 
acknowledging  that  first,  probably  involuntary  invita- 
tion of  her  eyes.  At  least  it  had  been  the  invitation  of 
Fate.  Was  this  the  second — her  second? 

Why  not  find  out — why  not? 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   EMERGENCY   MAN 

SIXTY-FOURTH  and  Central  Park  East.    Other- 
wise Fifth  Avenue,  boss."     The  driver  of  the 
pink-and-gray  made   the   announcement   through   the 
open  window  behind  the  wheel  seat  as  he  drew  up  at 
the  park-side  curb.    "Where  away,  now?" 

"Nowhere  away.  We've  arrived.  How  much  says 
the  clock?" 

"Dollar  twenty — to  you."  The  overcharge  was  com- 
mitted with  the  usual  stress  of  favoring  the  fare. 

Why-Not  Pape  reached  across  with  two  green 
singles.  "Keep  the  bonus,  friend  robber.  Likely  you 
need  it  more  than  I.  If  you've  any  scruples,  though, 
you  can  overcome  'em  by  telling  me  what  building  that 
is,  the  dingy  one  with  the  turrets,  back  among  the  park 
trees." 

"Arsenal  they  calls  it.    Police  station." 

Succinct  as  his  service,  the  licensed  highwayman  of 
city  streets  stepped  on  the  gas  and  was  off  to  other 
petty  pilfering.  Police  stations  and  overcharges  prob- 
ably did  not  seem  suitable  to  him  on  the  same  block. 

"The  Arsenal,  eh?"  Pape  queried  himself.  "Ain't 
the  Arsenal  where  Pudge  O'Shay  threatened  to  take  me 
to  tea  the  afternoon  Dot  polkaed  up  those  sacred  rocks 
to  the  block-house?" 

55 


56  LONESOME  TOWN 

He  crossed  the  oily  asphalt,  smeared  with  the  spoor 
of  countless  motor  vehicles ;  turned  south  a  few  steps ; 
half  way  between  Sixty-fourth  and  Sixty-third  streets 
located  the  eight-hundred-odd  number  in  which  he  was 
interested.  A  brownstone  house,  not  particularly  dis- 
tinguishable from  its  neighbors  it  was,  entered  by  a 
flight  of  steps  above  an  old-fashioned  or  "American" 
basement.  Noting  that  the  ground  floor  was  dark  and 
the  second  and  third  illumined,  he  turned  back  across 
the  Avenue  and  stopped  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall  that 
bounds  Central  Park. 

Between  jerking  into  his  hat  and  coat  in  full  face  of 
the  astonishment  of  his  own  opera-box  party  and  ac- 
complishing the  trip  up  in  the  fewest  possible  minutes 
which  could  cover  the  roundabout  traffic  route  pre- 
scribed during  "theater  hours"  he  had  not  found  time 
to  think  out  just  what  he  was  going  to  do  when  he 
arrived  at  his  destination.  Now  that  he  was  on  the 
scene  of  his  next  impertinence,  he  appreciated  that  its 
success  demanded  a  careful  plan.  His  self-selected 
lady's  dismissal  of  him  had  been  so  definite  that  he 
needed  some  tenable  excuse  for  having  followed  her 
home.  Stansbury  caution  warned  him  that  an  offer  of 
assistance  would,  without  doubt,  be  ignominiously 
spurned.  But  Pape  initiative  was  in  the  saddle. 

He  had  about  decided  on  the  most  direct  course — to 
rush  up  the  steps,  ring  the  bell,  ask  for  her,  tell  her  that 
he  had  come  to  give  her  the  note  and  trust  to  subse- 
quent events — when  the  front  door  of  the  house  he  was 
watching  flew  open.  A  hatless  man  bounded  down  to 


THE  EMERGENCY  MAN  57 

the  sidewalk;  straight  as  though  following  a  surveyed 
line,  headed  for  the  entrance  of  the  Arsenal. 

Pape  stepped  back  and  waited  until  the  heavy  on- 
comer  was  about  to  enter  the  park,  then  sprang  out  and 
blocked  the  way. 

"Where  do  you  think  you're  going?"  he  demanded. 

From  surprise  or  alarm  the  man  backed  a  step  or 
two.  "To — to  the  police  station,"  he  answered  nerv- 
ously. 

"Why  didn't  you  telephone?  that  would  have  been 
quicker.  You  seem  in  a  hell  of  a  hurry." 

"The  wires  are  cut,  sir." 

"Who  are  you  anyway?"  Pape's  demand  was  ut- 
tered with  a  note  of  authority. 

"I  am  Jasper — the  Sturgis'  butler.  Mrs.  Sturgis  has 
sent  me  to  bring  a  detective." 

With  a  short  laugh  Pape  approved  the  born  butler's 
habit  of  subordination.  "You're  in  luck,  Jasper.  I'm 
the  very  man  you're  looking  for.  Lead  me  to  the  case." 

His  location — he  well  might  have  been  coming  from 
the  Central  Park  station  house — favored  him.  The 
Arsenal  could  be  seen  a  few  yards  within  the  wall. 
Although  he  had  no  shield  to  show,  nor  named  himself 
a  sergeant  of  the  Force,  the  butler  seemed  satisfied  with 
the  assertion  and  his  own  misconclusions.  Dutifully, 
he  led  the  way  back  to  the  house  which  he  had  quitted 
in  such  a  hurry. 

"This  rushing  about  gets  me  in  the  wind,  sir,"  com- 
plained Jasper  en  route.  "I  fear  I  am  growing  a  bit 
weighty.  And  what  a  comfort  is  the  telephone.  Things 


58  LONESOME  TOWN 

like  that,  sir,  you  never  miss  until  they're  gone.  Ah, 
sir,  excitement  like  this  is  bad  for  the  heart." 

Opening  the  door  with  a  latch  key,  he  conducted  his 
find  across  the  reception  hall,  up  a  broad  flight  of  stairs 
and  into  a  formally  furnished  drawing-room.  From 
between  wide  doors,  half  opened  into  a  room  beyond, 
appeared  a  woman  of  medium  height,  whose  looks 
made  unnecessary  any  introduction  as  Irene's  mother. 
If  her  mauve  crape  dress  revealed  rather  too  distinctly 
her  plump  outlines,  it  softened  the  middle-aged  beauty 
of  her  face  and  toned  with  the  magnificent  grayish 
pearls  she  wore. 

"Is  this  the  detective,  Jasper?"  she  asked,  but  did 
not  await  an  answer.  "I'll  ring  when  I  want  you 
again." 

She  turned  to  the  stranger  as  the  butler  passed  out 
of  the  room.  "Thank  you  for  answering  our  call  for 
help  so  promptly  Mr. " 

"Pape,  madam." 

"Won't  you  take  off  your  coat  and  be  seated,  Mr. 
Pape?  This  is  in  some  respects  an  unusual  robbery, 
and  your  investigation  probably  will  take  some  time." 

He  followed  her  suggestion  with  alacrity,  using  a 
nearby  Davenport  to  rack  his  hat  and  overcoat.  It 
would  be  an  advantage,  he  considered,  to  be  in  posses- 
sion of  as  many  facts  as  possible,  before  Jane  ap- 
peared to  expose  him.  Facts  might  help  him  in  some 
way  to  induce  her  to  go  on  playing  the  game  as  she 
had  in  the  Metropolitan  box. 

"Best  begin  at  the  very  beginning,  Mrs.  Sturgis." 

He  seated  himself  in  a  chair  opposite  that  into  which 
the  matron  had  sunk,  and  leaned  toward  her  with 


THE  EMERGENCY  MAN  59 

frowning  concentration.  Too  late  he  remembered  that 
the  Arsenal  detectives,  if  any  were  there  assigned,  did 
not  sit  around  at  all  hours  in  evening  clothes.  But  if 
she  noticed  at  all  his  attire,  it  was  with  approval,  judg- 
ing by  the  confidential  smile  she  bent  upon  him. 

"This  is  a  manless  house,  except  for  the  servants," 
she  began  in  the  modulated  voice  of  those  "to  the  man- 
ner" born.  "I  have  the  misfortune  to  be  a  widow. 
This  evening  my  daughter  and  my  niece  went  to  the 
opera  with  old  friends  of  the  family.  I  have  no  liking 
for  operas  of  the  'Zaza'  type  so  remained  at  home.  But 
I  promised  the  young  ladies  to  stay  up,  as  they  wished 
to  bring  their  friends  back  with  them  to  supper." 

Stopped  by  a  thought,  she  indicated  an  ebony  ciga- 
rette outfit  that  topped  a  tabaret  near  his  chair.  "Men 
think  so  much  better  when  they  smoke,"  she  suggested. 
"If  you  prefer  cigars,  Mr.  Pape,  I'll  have  some  brought 
in." 

"Please  don't  trouble.    My  chest's  full  of  'em." 

With  a  forced  smile,  she  watched  the  "detective" 
produce  one  of  his  own  regardlessly  purchased  cigars, 
light  it  and  puff  with  manifest  pleasure  from  its  fra- 
grance. 

"This  afternoon,"  she  proceeded,  "Miss  Lauderdale, 
my  niece,  returned  from  a  visit  to  an  old  woman  who 
had  been  her  governess  years  ago  when  her  father  was 
— well,  before  he  lost  his  money.  She  brought  back  a 
jeweled  snuffbox  of  antique  design  which  had  belonged 
to  her  great-grandfather.  In  some  way  not  yet  ex- 
plained to  me  it  had  came  into  possession  of  this  upper 
servant.  Although  its  intrinsic  value  is  not  great — the 
rubies  set  in  its  cover  are  small,  not  worth  more  than 


60  LONESOME  TOWN 

a  thousand  dollars,  I  should  say — Miss  Lauderdale 
seems  to  set  great  store  by  it.  She  asked  me  to  lock  it 
up  in  a  secret  safe  built  in  my  library  wall  until  she 
should  want  it  again." 

From  his  very  light  experience  with  operatives  of 
the  force — really  none  at  all  except  with  those  of  the 
printed  page — Pape  considered  that  he  should  begin 
asking  questions  if  he  was  to  sustain  the  part.  He 
matched  his  finger-tips  in  pairs — in  most  "sleuth" 
stories  they  did  that;  cleared  his  throat — also  inevit- 
able ;  observed  somewhat  stupendously : 

"I  see.  You  opened  the  secret  wall  safe  and  within 
it  installed  the  heirloom  snuffbox.  At  what  hour,  Mrs. 
Sturgis,  was  this?" 

"About  five  o'clock." 

"And  you  found  the  safe  cracked,  might  I  ask — its 
contents  gone  ?" 

"Not  at  all.  You  anticipate  me.  What  jewelry  I 
keep  in  the  safe  was  all  there.  Some  of  it,  at  my 
daughter's  coaxing,  I  had  withdrawn  for  her  to  wear 
to  the  opera.  She  is  entirely  too  much  of  a  child  to  be 
allowed  such  adornment,  but  you  know  our  young 
ladies  these  days,  Mr.  Pape." 

He  nodded,  but  none  too  assuredly  in  view  of  his 
fathomless  ignorance  of  "our  young  ladies  these  days." 

"And  after  taking  out  this  jewelry  for  Miss  Sturgis, 
you  are  sure  that  you  locked  the  safe — shut  it  securely 
and  turned  the  dial?"  he  asked,  quite  as  the  profes- 
sional he  was  trying  to  emulate  would  have  pursued 
the  case.  "Sometimes  you  women  folks " 

"I  am  not  the  careless  sort.    I  locked  the  safe." 


THE  EMERGENCY  MAN  61 

From  the  matron's  composed  manner,  he  well  could 
believe  her. 

"It  was  about  nine  o'clock,"  she  continued,  "when, 
having  changed  to  the  gown  I  meant  to  wear  to  sup- 
per, I  wanted  these  black  pearls."  She  indicated  the 
two  pendants  in  her  ears,  a  ring  and  the  vari-sized 
strand  about  her  neck.  "With  purple  or  lavender,  you 
see,  they  make  the  second  mourning  effect  which  I  shall 
always  wear  for  my  dear  husband.  Again  I  came  down- 
stairs to  the  safe.  Imagine  my  astonishment  and  fright 
when  I  found  it  open — the  door  full  an  inch  ajar." 

"But  you're  wearing  the  pearls,  madam?" 

"That  is  the  strangest  part  of  it!"  Moved  at  last 
by  her  nervousness,  Mrs.  Sturgis  arose,  crossed  to  a 
window  that  overlooked  Central  Park,  clutched  the  cur- 
tains and  drew  them  apart.  For  a  second  or  two  she 
stood  looking  out,  then  returned  to  her  chair.  "Mr. 
Pope,  not  a  single  piece  of  my  jewelry  was  missing. 
The  cash  drawer  had  not  been  disturbed,  though  it 
happened  to  contain  a  considerable  sum  of  money.  A 
sheaf  of  Liberty  Bonds  in  plain  sight  lay  untouched. 
Absolutely  nothing  was  gone  except  Miss  Lauderdale's 
heirloom  snuffbox.  Of  course  that's  no  great  finan- 
cial loss,  but  she  is  much  upset  by  the  loss  and  I  can't 
help  feeling  my  responsibility.  Tell  me,  what  do  you 
make  of  it?" 

His  chin  cupped  in  one  hand,  Pape  tried  to  look  that 
shade  of  study  denominated  as  "brown."  Next  he 
puffed  viciously  at  the  plump  middle  section  that  was 
left  of  his  cigar — women,  he  had  noticed,  always  har- 
kened  with  more  respect  to  a  man  who  puffed  viciously 
at  a  cigar. 


62  LONESOME  TOWN 

"Strange — passing  strange,"  he  muttered.  From  a 
pocket  of  his  figured  white  waistcoat  he  drew  his  watch 
and  looked  enquiringly  into  its  face.  "You  say  it  was 
about  nine  o'clock  when  you  discovered  this  theft? 
It  was  after  ten  when  you  sent  the  butler  after — after 
me.  Just  to  keep  the  tally  straight,  madam,  may  I  ask 
what  you  were  doing  in  the  interim?" 

Mrs.  Sfcurgis'  brows — black  as  her  daughter's,  but 
unplucked — lifted  slightly,  as  if  she  were  surprised  by 
the  question.  However,  after  a  momentary  pause  she 
answered,  "At  first  I  was  uncertain  just  what  to  do. 
Finally  I  decided  to  summon  Miss  Lauderdale  from 
the  opera  house.  She,  as  the  only  loser,  was  the  per- 
son most  concerned.  She  returned  just  now  and  in- 
sisted that  the  police  be  called  in.  She  was  even  more 
upset  than  I  when  we  discovered  that  our  telephone  was 
out  of  commission.  She  sent  Jasper  at  once  to " 

Pape  managed  an  interruptive  glower  of  disapproval 
that  would  have  done  credit  to  the  most  efficient  "bull" 
of  the  Central  Office. 

"You've  wasted  valuable  time,"  he  declared.  "In 
robberies,  it  is  advisable  to  get  the  authorities  on  the 
scene  of  the  crime  at  the  earliest  possible  moment." 

"But  in  this  instance  the  circumstances  were  so  pe- 
culiar and  I " 

"I  know.  I  know,  madam.  Circumstances  always 
are  more  or  less  peculiar."  Pape  had  deemed  a  touch 
of  official  discourtesy  not  out  of  place.  "What  I  want 
to  know  next  is — that  is  to  say,  the  person  I'd  like  next 
to  interview  is  this  niece  of  yours  who  has  been  de- 
prived of  her  snuffbox." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

EMPTY ! 

PAPE,  the  while,  had  grown  most  anxious  to  know 
the  exact  whereabouts  of  the  young  woman  in 
the  case.  He  found  it  nervous  work,  this  expecting 
her  appearance  every  minute — this  playing  the  detec- 
tive when  she,  with  one  glance,  could  detect  him. 
Would  she  or  would  she  not  expose  him?  The  full 
imperativeness  of  the  question  was  in  the  gaze  he  bent 
upon  the  matron. 

"Miss  Lauderdale  will  soon  be  down,  I  am  sure. 
She  went  to  her  room  to  change  her  gown." 

"And  why,  pray,  should  she  bother  changing  her 
gown  at  a  time  like  this?  The  one  she  had  on  was 
very — I  mean  to  say,  wasn't  the  one  she  had  on  be- 
coming?" 

This  demand  Mrs.  Sturgis  met  with  an  increase  of 
dignity.  "We  thought  it  might  be  necessary  for  her 
to  go  to  Police  Headquarters  or  whatever  it  is  you  call 
the  place  where  one  swears  to  complaints.  I'll  send 
her  word  to  hurry  if  you  wish." 

Pape  did  wish.  However,  the  sending  of  word  to 
that  effect  proved  unnecessary.  Even  as  Mrs.  Sturgis 
was  crossing  the  room  to  ring  for  Jasper,  Jane  entered, 
dressed  in  a  black  and  white  checked  skirt  and  loose 

63 


64  LONESOME  TOWN 

white  silk  blouse.     At  sight  of  the  caller  she  stopped 
short. 

"Well,  I'll  be " 

"Oh  no,  you  -won't,  Miss  Lauderdale — I  believe?" 
Pape's  advance  had  interrupted  her  ejaculation. 
"You're  too  much  of  a  lady  for  that  and  far  too  good 
a  sport  to — to  be  in  despair  over  your  loss.  The  game 
is  young  yet  and  I  am  here  to  win  it." 

Although  his  tone  was  pompous,  the  eyes  he  fixed 
on  her  outraged  expression  were  urgent,  imploring. 

Yet  at  the  moment  she  did  not  look  much  as  though 
she  had  dropped  the  note  as  summons  No.  2.  Twice 
her  lips  opened  in  angry  hesitation.  But  her  aunt  in- 
terrupted before  she  actually  spoke. 

"I  was  just  about  to  send  Jasper  up  for  you,  my 
dear,"  she  said.  "Mind  your  nerves,  now.  This  is 
an  operative  who  has  come  over  from  The  Arsenal 
to  solve  our  mystery.  Mr.  Pope,  Miss  Lauderdale." 

"Pape,  you  mean,"  Jane  corrected,  then  bit  her  lip. 

"Of  course,  I  mean  Pape.  I  am  so  bad  at  names, 
Mr.  Pape.  Here  I've  been  calling  you  Pope.  But, 
Jane  dear,  how  could  you  know?" 

The  ensuing  slight  pause  was  shattered  by  the  sound- 
less insistence  of  a  pair  of  gray  eyes  addressing  a  pair 
of  tropic  blue:  "Play  my  game.  It's  a  good  game. 
Why  not — why  not  play  my  game  ?" 

"Jasper  told  me." 

Her  compliance  was  brief  and  cold — but  still  com- 
pliance. With  his  wide  smile  Pape  thanked  and 
thanked  her,  triumphed  over  her,  caressed  her.  Jane 
refused  to  smile  back.  But  she  did  blush — slowly,  de- 


EMPTY!  65 

liciously,  revealingly  blushed.  At  that  moment  she 
looked,  after  all,  as  though  she  had  meant  to  drop  the 
note.  He  wanted  to  accuse  her  of  it  and  be  sure. 

But  there  was  Mrs.  Sturgis  to  be  considered.  Re- 
adjusting his  expression  into  lines  professional,  he  re- 
turned to  the  case. 

"Suppose,  madame,  we  take  a  look  at  that  safe." 

Mrs.  Sturgis  led  the  way  into  the  room  from  which 
she  had  appeared  on  his  arrival.  It  was  a  library,  its 
far  end  one  huge  window  of  many  colored  panes  and 
its  walls  lined  with  book-shelves  except  where  family 
portraits  in  oils  were  hung  or  where  the  fireplace  and 
its  mantel  interfered.  An  antique  writing  desk  in  the 
window,  a  magazine-covered  table  off  center,  a  pillow- 
piled  couch  and  a  scattering  of  several  comfortable- 
looking,  upholstered  chairs  comprised  the  furnishings, 
the  rich  old  mahogany  of  which  was  brought  out  by 
the  glow  from  a  companionable  fire  of  cannel  coal. 

To  a  corner  of  this  room  repaired  Mrs.  Sturgis  and 
there  pressed  her  palm  against  an  autumnal  colored 
leaf  in  the  wall-paper  design.  A  shelf,  laden  with 
books  moved  out,  one  volume,  by  chance,  falling  to  the 
floor.  Another  touch — exactly  what  or  where  Pape 
did  not  see — caused  a  panel  to  slide  back,  disclosing  the 
nickeled  face  of  a  wall  safe.  With  assured  fingers  she 
began  to  turn  the  dial — to  the  right,  to  the  left,  then  a 
complete  turn  to  the  right  again.  Every  movement 
added  evidence  of  her  boast  of  precision.  Seizing  the 
knob,  she  pulled  upon  it  hard  and  harder.  The  door 
of  the  safe,  however,  did  not  yield. 

"Peculiar!"  she  ejaculated,  all  the  well-bred  softness 


66  LONESOME  TOWN 

whittled  off  her  voice.  "Never  before  have  I  made  a 
mistake  on  that  combination.  I  know  it  like  my  own 
initials." 

"Mind  your  nerve  now,  Aunt  Helene,"  advised  Jane 
from  just  behind,  her  tone,  too,  rather  sharp. 

For  such  a  sweet-looking  girl,  she  certainly  could 
sound  sour — malicious!  Not  another  word  or  glance 
had  she  spared  to  him,  the  double-barreled  interloper. 
She  was  playing  his  game — yes.  But  was  it  because 
he  had  asked  her  or  for  reasons  of  her  own?  This 
dame  he  had  self -selected  would  seem  to  be  an  intricate 
creature. 

So  Pape  reflected  as  he  picked  up  and  held  in  his 
hands  the  book  which  had  fallen.  But  he,  at  least,  was 
simple  enough ;  with  his  very  simplicity  in  the  past  had 
solved  more  than  one  intricate  problem.  He  would,  if 
she  permitted,  try  to  solve  her. 

Again  Mrs.  Sturgis  turned  and  twirled;  again 
tugged  at  the  knob,  but  with  no  more  effect  than  be- 
fore ;  again  faced  about  with  consternation,  even  super- 
stition on  her  face. 

"There  must  be  something  wrong  here,"  she  half- 
whispered. 

"That  we  already  know,"  Jane  agreed,  "else  why  the 
detective  in  our  midst?" 

In  Pape's  hands,  suppose  we  say  by  accident,  the 
volume  he  had  rescued  from  the  floor  opened  upon  one 
of  O.  Henry's  immortelles — "Alias  Jimmie  Valentine." 
To  kins  *he  work  of  the  lamented  Mr.  Porter  ever 
had  been  fraught  wifti  suggestion  for  nacre  than  the 


EMPTY!  67 

"kick"  that,  unlike  home-brew,  is  always  to  be  found 
at  the  bottom  of  his  bottle — at  the  finis  of  his  tale. 

The  latest  in  amateur  detectives,  thus  opportunely  re- 
minded, decided  that  he  must  rise  to  the  occasion.  And 
he  had  reason  to  hope  that  he  could,  once  upon  a  time 
having  been  shown  some  tricks  of  the  tumbler  pro- 
fession by  a  professional. 

"Why  else  should  I  be  in  your  midst,"  he  offered 
cheerfully,  "if  not  to  open  your  safe  for  you?" 

Mrs.  Sturgis  at  once  gave  him  the  benefit  of  doubt; 
made  way  for  him;  took  a  stand  beside  her  skeptical- 
looking  niece.  But  Jane's  contempt  over  his  essay  was 
frank — really,  make  her  look  downright  disagreeable. 

Pape  made  up  his  mind  to  disappoint  her  evident 
expectations  if  within  his  powers  so  to  do.  He  knelt 
down;  wedged  his  head  into  the  vacancy  left  by  the 
swinging  shelf;  pressed  his  ear  close  to  the  lock;  began 
to  finger  the  dial.  There  was  more  than  hope  in  his 
touch ;  there  was  also  practice.  In  his  ranch-house  out 
Hellroaring  way  he  long  ago  had  installed  a  wall  safe 
of  his  own  in  which  to  deposit  the  pay-roll  and  other 
cash  on  hand.  And  one  day  it  had  disobligingly  gone 
on  strike;  but  not  so  disobligingly  that  a  certain  dere- 
lict whom  he  had  fed-up  on  he-man  advice  as  well  as 
food — one  who  had  followed  the  delicate  profession  of 
"listener" — was  beyond  reach. 

This  turned-straight  cracksman,  without  admitting 
his  former  avocation,  had  solved  a  pay-day  dilemma  by 
conquering  the  refractory  dial  and  later  had  given  his 
benefactor  a  series  of  lessons  in  the  most-gentle  "art," 
that  the  emergency  might  not  recur.  Pape,  miles  and 


68  LONESOME  TOWN 

miles  from  the  nearest  town  which  might  afford  an 
expert,  had  been  convinced  by  the  experience  that  a 
safe  is  unsafe  which  cannot  be  opened  at  the  owner's 
will. 

In  the  course  of  present  manipulations,  the  "under- 
graduate" considered  what  he  could  say  or  do  to  the 
contemptuous  half  of  his  audience  should  he  fail,  but 
reached  no  satisfactory  conclusion.  Indeed,  he  felt  that 
the  only  real  way  of  venting  his  chagrin  would  be  to 
wring  her  graceful,  long,  white  neck  for  doubting  him 
before  he  failed,  a  proceeding  quite  beyond  considera- 
tion of  any  man  from  Montana.  So  he  must  not  fail. 
Yet  how  succeed  ? 

Just  as  he  was  reminding  himself  for  the  seventh 
time — seventh  turn — that  "slow  and  careful"  was  also 
the  watchword  for  this  sort  of  acquaintanceship,  an 
electrifying  response  to  his  light-fingering  sounded 

from  within a  click.  Turning  the  knob,  he  pulled 

out  the  door.  The  yielding  hinges  completed  an  elec- 
tric circuit  and  an  incandescent  bulb  lighted  in  the  roof. 

Pape  sprang  to  his  feet  and  back,  as  much  amazed 
over  his  feat  as  the  dazed-looking  Miss  Lauderdale. 
Then,  at  once,  he  got  control  of  himself;  straightened 
his  cuffs,  as  his  teacher  always  had  done  after  turning 
the  trick ;  remarked  most  calmly : 

"The  thief  must  have  been  changing  the  combination 
in  the  hope  of  delaying  the  discovery  of  his  crime  and 
been  frightened  into  such  a  panic  that  he  didn't  take 
time  to  close  the  door." 

Mrs.  Sturgis  again  bent  to  the  safe.  She  had  reached 
well  into  it  when,  with  a  poignant  cry,  she  put  both 


EMPTY!  69 

hands  to  her  eyes  and  started  back.  "It's  there  again ! 
This  is  getting  too  much  for  my  nerves.  Was  I  mad 
before  or  am  I  going  mad  now?  Jane — Mr.  Pape — it 
isn't  gone — at  all!" 

The  girl  next  applied  to  the  cavity  in  the  wall.  Her 
face  set  in  an  apparent  effort  to  "mind"  her  nerves. 
She  reached  in  and  drew  out  an  oblong  box  of  gold 
beautifully  carved  and  set  with  small  rubies  in  a  design 
of  peacocks.  From  her  expression — no  longer  dis- 
agreeable, but  beautiful  from  an  ecstasy  of  relief — 
Pape  judged  this  to  be  the  "stolen"  heirloom  upon 
which  she  was  said  to  set  such  store. 

That  her  aunt  might  be  absolutely  reassured,  Jane 
Lauderdale  handed  her  the  tabafiere  so  recently  ac- 
counted missing.  That  good  lady,  however,  looked 
weak,  as  if  about  to  drop  the  jeweled  box.  Pape  re- 
lieved her  of  it ;  led  her  to  a  chair. 

"I — I  don't  understand." 

Like  a  child  utterly  dependent  on  grown-ups  for  ex- 
planation, she  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
younger  pair. 

"Except  for  that  famous  precision  of  yours,  it  would 
seem  easy  enough,"  Jane  offered  with  more  clarity  than 
respect.  "You  must  have  pushed  the  box  aside  when 
you  took  out  the  pieces  Irene  wanted  to  wear.  Your 
hands  were  full  and  you  neglected  to  close  the  safe. 
When  you  came  down  again  for  your  black  pearl  set 
and  found  the  door  open  you  thought  at  once  of  my 
snuffbox  and  jumped  at  the  conclusion,  since  it  wasn't 
in  the  place  you  remembered  putting  it,  that  it  wasn't 


70  LONESOME  TOWN 

there  at  all.     Cheer  up.     You  wouldn't  be  the  dearest 
auntie  in  the  world  if  you  weren't  human." 

Pape  seconded  her.  "The  most  precise  of  us  are 
liable  to  figments  of  the  imagination,  madam.  All's 
well  that  ends  that  way.  A  snuffbox  in  hand  is  worth 
two  in  the " 

But  Aunt  Helene  wasn't  so  sure.  She  interrupted 
in  a  complaining  voice,  as  if  offended  at  their  effort  to 
cheer  her. 

"I  never  jump  at  conclusions — never.  If  I  was 
startled  into  jumping  at  the  one  you  mention,  Jane, 
it  seems  strange  that  I  selected  these  black  pearls  so 
accurately.  Doesn't  it?  And  I'd  almost  take  oath  that 
the  box  wasn't  pushed  to  one  side — that  it  stood,  when 
I  found  it  just  now,  exactly  on  the  spot  where  I  first 
placed  it.  And  then,  Mr.  Pape,  the  trouble  with  the 
combination " 

"Don't  worry  any  more  about  it,  poor  dear,"  Jane 
begged  with  a  suddenly  sweet,  soothing  air,  the  while 
laying  a  sympathetic  palm  against  her  relative's 
puckered  brow.  "I've  noticed  that  you  haven't  seemed 
just  yourself  for  days.  Perhaps  these  headaches  you've 
complained  of  mean  that  you  need  eyeglasses.  It's  only 
natural  that  a  strain  on  the  optic  nerves  should  confuse 
your  mind,  which  usually  is  so  precise  about  all " 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  Jane.  You  can't  mental-sug- 
gest me  into  old  age!"  snapped  the  recalcitrant  patient. 
"My  eyes  are  just  as  good  as  yours.  And  I  feel  posi- 
tive that  I  am  quite  myself." 

"Then  why,  Aunt  Helene,  didn't  you  go  with  us  ta 


EMPTY!  71 

hear  Farrar  to-night  ?    You  aren't  usually  so  squeamish 
about " 

"Of  course  not.  It  was  indigestion,  if  you  must 
know.  Certainly  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  my  optic 
nerves.  You  shouldn't  accuse  me  of  jumping  at  con- 
clusions, Jane,  with  all  your  irritating,  positive  ideas 
about  other  people's " 

"It  is  my  opinion — "  the  unofficial  investigator 
thought  advisable  at  this  point  to  remind  them  that  an 
outsider  was  present — "that  your  remembrance  of  the 
combination  figures  and  the  various  turns  was  abso- 
lutely correct — ab-so-lutely.  But  you  may  have  jolted 
the  delicate  mechanism  of  the  lock  when  you  shut  the 
door.  You  may  have  slammed  it." 

He  received  two  glances  for  his  pains  to  maintain 
peace,  a  quick,  resentful  one  from  the  niece  and  a  long, 
grateful  one  from  her  aunt. 

"A  beauty,  isn't  it?"  he  continued  buoyantly,  looking 
at  Jane,  but  referring  to  the  snuffbox  in  his  hands, 
lowered  for  closer  inspection  into  the  light  of  the  elec- 
tric lamp.  "I  don't  wonder  that  the  thought  of  losing 
it  distressed  you,  my  dear  Miss  Lauderdale." 

"Associations,  my  dear  Mr.  Pape." 

Her  brevity,  cut  even  shorter  by  her  accent,  evidently 
was  calculated  to  inform  him  that,  although  she  had 
played,  she  didn't  care  much  for  his  game.  For  a 
young  person  who  could  warm  one  up  so  one  minute, 
she  certainly  could  make  one  feel  like  an  ice-crusher  the 
next!  Since  that's  what  he  was  up  against,  however, 
he  proceeded  with  all  his  surplus  enthusiasm  to  crush 
ice. 


72  LONESOME  TOWN 

"The  sight  of  this  heirloom  takes  one  right  back  to 
the  days  of  old,  doesn't  it,  when  ladies  fair  and  gallants 
bold " 

"You  wax  poetic  from  hearsay,  Mr.  Pape?  You 
don't  look  exactly  old  or  wise  enough  to  have  lived  in 
those  good  old  days." 

"Miss  Lauderdale,  no.  I  don't  claim  to  have  staked 
any  'Fountain  of  Youth.'  In  fact,  I  ain't  much  older 
or  wiser  than  I  look  and  act.  But  I've  read  a  bit  in 
my  day — and  night.  The  courtly  Colonial  gent,  if  I 
remember  aright,  first  placed  the  left  hand  on  the  heart 
— so."  Then  he  bent  gracefully,  not  to  say  carefully, 
so  that  the  seams  of  his  satin  straight- jackets  should 
not  give — thus.  With  his  right  hand  he  next  snapped 
open  his  jeweled  box  and  passed  it  around  the  circle 
of  snufflers  of  the  sex,  who  would  likely  have  swooned 
at  the  thought  of  a  cigarette  as  at  the  sight  of  a  mouse 
— in  this  wise." 

"Oh  don't — don't  you  dare  open  it!" 

Pape,  who  duly  had  pressed  his  heart,  bowed  with 
care,  if  not  grace,  and  was  in  the  act  of  pressing  the 
catch,  felt  the  box  snatched  from  his  grasp.  In  his 
fumbling,  however,  his  thumb  had  succeeded.  As  Jane 
seized  her  treasure  the  lid  sprang  back.  One  look  she 
gave  into  it,  then  swayed  in  the  patch  of  lamplight  very 
like  the  limp  ladies  he  had  been  mentioning.  A  face  of 
the  pure  pallor  of  hers  scarcely  could  be  said  to  turn 
pale,  but  a  ghastly  light  spread  over  it.  Her  eyes  dis- 
tended and  darkened  with  horror.  A  shudder  took  her. 
She  looked  about  to  fall. 

"It  is — empty !     See,  it  is  empty,"  she  moaned. 


EMPTY!  73 

Pape  was  in  time  to  steady  her  into  a  chair.  Aunt 
Helene  hovered  over  her  anxiously. 

"What's  gone  wrong  with  you,  childie?  You're  the 
one  that's  in  a  run-down  state.  Here's  your  box,  Jane 
dear.  Look,  it  isn't  stolen  at  all.  Pinch  yourself. 
Waken  up.  Everything's  all  right." 

But  Jane  did  not  return  her  relative's  smile :  clutched 
both  fat  arms  of  the  chair  with  both  slim  hands ;  stared 
ahead  fixedly,  as  if  trying  to  think. 

"It  is,"  she  repeated  under  her  breath,  "empty." 

From  his  urgent  desire  to  relieve  and  help  her,  Pape 
intruded  into  her  painful  abstraction. 

"Then  it  wasn't  the  box  you  valued,  so  much  as  its 
contents,"  he  stated  to  her.  "From  the  shock  you  have 
shown  on  finding  it  empty,  I  gather  that  the  safe  has 
been  robbed  after  all.  Will  you  tell  me  of  what?" 

Her  lips  moved.  He  had  to  lean  low  to  hear  her 
sporadic  utterances. 

"I  have  failed — in  a  trust.  It  meant  more  to  me 
than — it  will  kill  him — simply  kill  him.  He  trusted 
me.  I  can't  understand — who " 

A  sudden  glance  of  virile  suspicion  she  flung  up  into 
the  young  Westerner's  eyes. 

"Who  and  what  are  you?"  she  demanded.  "Answer 
me!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

SNUFFED 

SO  unexpected  was  the  girl's  attack  that  Pape  felt 
at  a  loss  how  best  to  meet  it.  At  his  look  of  con- 
fusion, she  continued  in  quick,  fierce  tones : 

"I  can't  see  how  my  affairs  concern  you.  How  dare 
you  question  me  ?  Why  are  you  around,  anyhow,  here 

and  at  the How  did  you  happen  to  open  that  safe 

so  easily?  Who  and  what  are  you — I  insist  on  an 
answer?" 

"My  dear,  don't  let  excitement  make  you  unreason- 
able," Mrs.  Sturgis  intervened.  "Mr.  Pape  is  a  detec- 
tive from  the  Arsenal.  I've  told  you  that.  Jasper 
brought  him  over  after  I " 

"He  isn't.  I  know  very  much  better.  He  is  noth- 
ing of  the  sort."  The  girl  arose  and  straightened  be- 
fore him,  all  strength  now.  "I  suppose  you  expect  me 
to  tell  you  all  about  everything  like  a  little — like  a 
ninny.  Well,  I  won't.  I  won't  tell  you  anything.  You 
tell  me!" 

"Don't  mind  in  the  least.  Fact,  I'd  gladly  tell  you 
a  lot  about  the  who  and  what  of  Peter  Stansbury  Pape, 
but  you're  not  in  a  mood  to  hear.  Out  in  Montana, 
where  I  hail  from,  we  think  a  lot  of  straight  friend- 
ship. If  you  could  trust  me,  Miss  Lauderdale,  perhaps 
'  74 


SNUFFED  75 

I'd  be  able  to  demonstrate  the  sort  of  friendship  I 
mean." 

"Well,  I  can't  trust  you." 

"Pardon  me.    Yes,  you  can." 

He  faced  her  with  an  emphasized  look  of  that  sin- 
cerity which  before  had  compelled  her.  But  she  shifted 
her  eyes  stubbornly  and  insisted : 

"It's  very  strange  that  on  this  particular  night,  when 
I  was  to  be  robbed  of  something  that  matters  more  to 
me  than —  It  does  seem  very  strange,  your  forcing 
your  way  in  as  you  did." 

"He  didn't  force  his  way  in.  I  tell  you  I  sent  for 
him,"  said  Aunt  Helene. 

Pape,  however,  nodded  in  agreement.  "It  was  and 
is  strange.  I  ain't  contradicting  you,  notice.  Every- 
thing to-night  seems  mighty  strange — to  me,  as  well 
as  to  you.  If  you'd  just  stop  to  consider  that  all 
friends  are  strangers  to  start  with,  if  you'd  yield  to 
your  instinct,  which  won't  lead  you  astray  in  my  case, 
if  you'd  tag  what's  worrying  you  so  that  I  could  know 
where  we're  headed  for " 

Again  Mrs.  Sturgis  interrupted,  this  time  from  ex- 
citement within  herself.  She  seized  Jane's  arm  by  way 
of  claiming  that  difficult  young  relative's  attention. 

"It  has  just  occurred  to  me  what —  Jane  Lauder- 
dale,  do  you  mean  for  one  minute  to  tell  me  that  you've 
found " 

"I  don't  mean  to  tell  anything." 

The  click  of  the  girl's  voice  silenced  further  impor- 
tunities. Mrs.  Sturgis  clasped  her  hands  tightly  from 

I 


76  LONESOME  TOWN 

nervous  suppression,  her  continued  mutterings  clipped 
by  a  knife-like  look  from  Jane. 

"I  do  think  you  ought  to  tell  if  by  hook  or  crook 
you've  found —  There  now,  don't  flare  up  again!  I 
don't  wonder,  poor  dear,  that  you're  upset.  Just  re- 
member that  I'm  upset,  too.  And  I  can't  help  feeling 
a  little  hurt  that  you  don't  show  more  confidence  in 
one  who  has  done  her  best  to  keep  you  from  missing 
the  mother  who —  But  there,  we  won't  speak  of  that 
now.  What  do  you  make  of  the  case  Mr.  Po — Pape  ? 
What  does  your  professional  instinct  tell  you?" 

In  truth,  Why  Not  Pape's  "professional"  instinct 
had  not  been  very  communicative.  But  the  result  of 
his  unprofessional  investigation — Jane's  distress,  cli- 
maxing in  her  suspicion  of  him — had  brought  him 
through  a  conclusive  mental  process.  There  had  been 
a  robbery  and  a  peculiar  one.  Money,  bonds  and  val- 
uable jewelry  had  been  passed  by  in  the  theft  of  an 
unnamed  something  vitally  precious  to  a  girl  whom 
he  had  offered  to  befriend. 

Already  much  valuable  time  had  been  lost  through 
Mrs.  Sturgis'  incertitude,  her  summons  of  Jane  and 
Jane's  unwitting  summons  of  himself.  His  impulsive 
participation  was  delaying  the  more  expert  search 
which  should  have  been  instigated  at  once.  The  thief 
might  have  escaped  through  his  interposition  of  him- 
self. He  felt  that  he  ought  to  make  amends  if  the  time 
for  such  had  not  already  passed. 

Through  this  mental  summary,  accomplished  during 
the  moment  that  followed  the  matron's  demand,  Pape 


SNUFFED  77 

managed  the  appearance  of  a  man  in  deep  study.  At 
its  conclusion 

"Looks  like  an  inside  job,"  he  declared. 

"By  inside  you  mean —  Please  don't  suspect  any  one 
within  my  household."  Mrs.  Sturgis'  color  rose  with 
the  advice. 

"I  have  no  right  to  suspect  any  one — not  yet, 
madam.  I  am  considering  only  known  facts.  Your 
safe  has  been  robbed  within  the  last  few  hours  of  the 
contents  of  this  heirloom  snuff-box.  I  assume,  Miss 
Lauderdale,  that  you  are  ready  to  swear  your  treasure 
was  inside  the  box  when  you  entrusted  it  to  your 
aunt?" 

"You  may — "  Jane  crisply.  "I  am  not  given  to  fig- 
ments of  the  imagination." 

"I  congratulate  you,  miss.  The  safe  was  opened  by 
no  ordinary  robber,  as  proved  by  the  valuables  left. 
Somebody  who  appreciated  the  contents  of — of  Miss 
Lauderdale's  treasure  committed  the  theft  and  in  such 
a  hurry  that  he  or  she  did  not  wait  to  extract  the  con- 
tents, but  took  box  and  all.  Later  this  person,  not 
knowing  that  Mrs.  Sturgis  had  been  to  the  safe  in  the 
meantime  and  discovered  the  loss,  found  opportunity 
to  replace  the  now-empty  box  and,  in  the  hurry  of  clos- 
ing the  door,  jarred  the  mechanism  of  the  lock." 

Mrs.  Sturgis  nodded ;  looked  really  quite  encouraged. 
"That  could  have  been  done  while  I  went  up  stairs  to 
dress  after  sending  to  the  Metropolitan  for  my  niece. 
But  I  do  hope  you're  not  going  to  make  the  mistake  of 
accusing  my  servants.  They've  been  with  me  for 
years." 


78  LONESOME  TOWN 

"I  am  not  going  to  accuse  any  one,  although  servants 
have  a  way  of  making  less  honest  friends  who  use 
them.  I  simply  say  that  no  professional  turned  this 
trick.  The  case  is  one  for  Central  Office  men.  Even 
if  it  were  in  my  line,  I  could  not,  under  the  circum- 
stances, take  the  responsibility  of  it  myself." 

"Under  what  circumstances,  Mr.  Pope — that  is, 
Papef  You  don't  intend  to  leave  us — to  desert  us  just 
when " 

Pape  silenced  Aunt  Helene's  protestations  with  a 
creditable  gesture.  "The  lack  of  confidence  in  me — 
even  suspicion  of  me — shown  by  Miss  Lauderdale 
makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  proceed.  I  have  gone  as 
far  as  I  can  in  a  case  where  I'm  not  to  be  given  a  hint 
of  the  nature  of  the  stolen  article  which  I  am  asked  to 
replace.  Since,  however,  I've  been  called  in,  I  must 
discharge  my  obligation  as  an  officer  of  the  law.  Where 
is — oh,  I  see  it.  May  I  use  your  phone,  Mrs.  Sturgis?" 

"Certainly.    But  w-what  are  you  about  to  do?" 

"To  call  up  Headquarters  and  have  a  brace  of  bulls 
— beg  pardon — a  span  of  detectives  sent  up  at  once. 
We  shall  hope  that  they  look  more  worthy  of  Miss 
Lauderdale's  confidence." 

With  this  dignified  declaration  Pape  strode  across 
the  room  to  a  telephone  cabinet  in  the  corner;  sat  down 
and  lifted  the  receiver.  But  he  never  heard  the 
response. 

One  ringless  hand  brushed  past  his  lips  and  cupped 
the  mouthpiece,  another  pressed  down  the  hook. 
Jane's  face,  again  disagreeable,  strained,  strange,  bent 
over  him.  At  just  that  moment  he  recalled  that  the 


SNUFFED  79 

line  was  said  to  be  out  of  commission,  a  fact  which 
they  two  appeared  to  have  forgotten.  Deeming  the 
point  of  distance  from  Aunt  Helene  an  advantage,  he 
decided  not  to  remind  Jane,  lest  he  silence  what  she 
was  about  to  say. 

"I've  changed  my  mind,"  she  quavered.  "I  don't 
want  a  detective — any  detectives." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  do."  Pape  spoke  in  a  tone  authorita- 
tive from  his  sincere  wish  to  get  her  the  best  possible 
advice  in  the  least  possible  time.  "Of  course  I'll  see  it 
through,  too,  if  you  want  me  to  and  ask  me  to.  But  I 
must  have  help  on  the  case.  Just  let  me  get  a  good  man 
detailed,  then  don't  worry.  We'll  get  a  rope  on  your 
petty  thief  sooner  than " 

"No.  I  won't  have  any  one  from  Central  Office.  I 
can't  have  the  matter  made  public.  When  I  thought 
the  box  stolen  among  other  things  I  was  willing.  But 
I've  changed  my  mind  now  I  know  that  only  the — that 
it —  Oh,  you  don't  understand  and  I  can't  explain! 
But  it  isn't  a  petty  theft,  Mr.  Pape." 

She  leaned  lower  over  him.  Her  voice  dropped  into 
a  whispered  rasp. 

"You'd  forgive  me  for  not  knowing  whom  to  trust 
if  you  could  realize  that  what  was  in  that  box  means 
everything  to  me  and  that  I'd  never  get  it  back  if  its 
real  value  became  known.  Can't  you  imagine  some- 
thing whose  loss  means  the  completest  kind  of  ruin  to 
me  and  to  one  who " 

She  pressed  her  teeth  into  her  lower  lip,  whether  to 
stop  its  quivering  or  its  admission  he  did  not  care. 
He  felt  his  sensibilities  scorched  by  the  blue  blaze  of 


80  LONESOME  TOWN 

fears  which  had  burnt  the  doubt  of  him  from  her  eyes. 
His  original  ideas  of  how  to  learn  this  lady  he  had 
self -selected  seemed  somehow  thrown  into  the  discard. 
They  were  much  too  slow,  much  too  steady,  much  too 
cool  as  compared  with  hot,  dizzy,  instantaneous  realiza- 
tion like  this.  One  didn't  learn  the  woman.  One  just 
knew  her.  And  knowing  her  as  the  woman,  one  served 
her. 

Without  superfluous  words  Pape's  lips  swore  their 
oath  of  allegiance — fervently  kissed  her  hand.  The 
click  of  the  receiver  being  returned  to  its  useless  hook 
punctuated  the  small  ceremony — that  and  the  distant 
tintillation  of  an  electric  bell. 

"Thank  goodness,  they're  back  at  last,  the  folks  for 
supper!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Helene  and  started  for  the 
stair-head. 

Jane  started  after  her.  "One  minute,  Auntie.  I 
want  to  ask — to  beg  a  favor  of  you." 

Pape  followed  them  to  their  stand  in  the  hall,  glanc- 
ing hastily  about  for  his  hat  and  overcoat.  He  decided 
that  he  must  escape.  The  returning  quartette — Irene 
especially — could  not  be  expected  to  play  his  game  as 
had  the  strangely  hostile,  compliant  and  altogether 
enigmatic  Jane.  Stripped  of  his  professional  mask,  he 
would  lose  the  advantage  he  had  gained  with  Aunt 
Helene,  even  did  her  niece  deign  to  let  him  hold  it  for 
long.  Perhaps  he'd  better  forget  his  hat  and  coat.  Yet 
how  to  get  out  without  passing  the  party 

"If  you'll  point  the  way  to  the  back-stairs,  madam — " 
he  began.  "It  would  be  better  if  your  friends  did  not 


SNUFFED  81 

see  me.  As  the  sleuth  on  the  case  I  don't  want  to  be 
recognized." 

Jane  interrupted,  her  one  hand  grasping  his  arm,  her 
other  Mrs.  Sturgis'.  Rapidly  Jasper  could  be  heard 
pad-padding  through  the  lower  hall  to  the  street  door. 

"There's  no  need  for  you  to  be  named  as  a — a  sleuth, 
Mr.  Pape.  Aunt  Helene,  what  I  wanted  to  ask — to 
implore  is  that  you  don't  mention  the  theft  at  all.  As 
the  only  loser,  I  insist  on  working  it  out  my  own  way. 
Won't  you  promise,  please?" 

"But,  my  dear,  there  must  be  some  explanation  to 
Harford — my  hurrying  you  home  and  all " 

"You  won't  stop  at  a  white  fib  for  me,  Aunt  Helene  ? 
I'll  tell  a  million  for  you  about  anything — whenever 
you  say.  Listen.  You  had  an  attack  of — what  was  it? 
Headache  from  your  eyes." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort.  Indigestion.  Why  do  you 
insist  that  my  eyes " 

"Indigestion,  then.  Anything  you  like.  You  didn't 
wish  to  spoil  Irene's  evening,  but  couldn't  be  alone. 
You  feel  better  now,  but — quick,  come  back  into  the 
library.  Stretch  out  on  the  couch.  Mr.  Pape,  help 
me — help  her!" 

There  was  no  time  to  enquire  into  the  advisability 
of  Jane's  plea.  As  the  street  door  thudded  shut  and 
light  voices  waved  upward,  her  tug  on  the  matron's 
plump  elbow  was  released  in  an  imperative  gesture  to 
Pape. 

He,  nothing  loath,  snatched  up  the  surprised  lady 
and  deposited  her  upon  the  pillow-piled  couch  before 
the  library  grate.  Jane,  with  rapid  movements,  com- 


82  LONESOME  TOWN 

pletely  enveloped  her  with  the  rare  old  Kiskillum  rug 
which  had  draped  its  foot,  sternly  tucking  in  the 
dimpled,  pearl-adorned  hands  which  would  strive  up- 
ward to  smooth  a  really  unruffled  coiffure. 

"How  does  making  a  fright  of  me  help?"  Aunt 
Helene  complained. 

Pape  did  not  answer.  He  was  looking  about  for  the 
stray  bottle  of  smelling-salts  which,  for  sake  of  realism, 
he  should  be  pressing  to  her  nostrils.  Before  he  could 
locate  any  such  first-aid,  however,  the  daughter  of  the 
house  had  achieved  the  second  floor  and  dawdled  de- 
lightedly into  the  room. 

Straight  for  the  Westerner  she  came  head-on,  soft 
exclamations  floating  from  her  like  the  sea-foam  tulle 
from  about  her  throat. 

"Do  you  know,  I  knew  you'd  stick  around  until  I 
came !  Harfy  is  fee-mious — his  mustache  does  look  so 
bristly  when  he  gets  in  a  rage.  But  I  believe  in  trust- 
ing each  other,  don't  you?  Do  you  or  don't  you,  Why- 
Not  Pape?" 

Through  his  mumbled  response  Pape  realized 
wretchedly  that  Mrs.  Sturgis  had  been  raised  to  a  sit- 
ting posture  by  strength  of  her  astonishment.  He 
heard  her  demand: 

"Irene,  you  know Jane,  where  in  the  world 

could  she " 

Also  he  heard  Jane's  hurried^  low-voiced  explana- 
tion. 

"I  was  trying  to  tell  you  a  while  ago.  Don't  you 
remember  that  I  said  how  strange  it  all  was?  You 
see,  he's  an  acquaintance  of  mine  from  the  Yellow- 


SNUFFED  83 

stone.  He  was  at  the  opera  to-night.  That's  why  he 
is  wearing  evening  clothes.  But  here  come  the  Aliens. 
Now,  please " 

Mrs.  Sturgis  was  obliged  to  take  it  at  a  gulp.  She 
sat  like  some  ruffled  chicken  doctored  for  the  pip  in 
her  straw-heap  of  rug,  smoothing  her  plumage,  winking 
from  smart  of  the  idea  and  greeting  her  friends.  Evi- 
dently she  was  none  too  taken  with  the  impromptu  role 
thrust  upon  her — would  have  preferred  the  thriller  of 
lady-assailed-in-her-castle — but  she  played  it  with  all 
due  languor,  not  forgetting  a  line,  even  on  Irene's  de- 
mand that  she  invite  Mr.  Pape,  who  to  her  still  must 
look  somewhat  like  a  mere  operative  from  the  Arsenal 
Precinct,  to  join  the  supper  party. 

Pape's  first  weak  thought  was  to  refuse.  The  patent 
pincers  at  the  moment  gave  him  a  twinge,  as  they  had 
several  times  during  recent  excitements.  Really,  he 
owed  it  to  his  feet  to  go  home.  But  that  wouldn't 
sound  either  a  legitimate  or  romantic  excuse  to  a  lady 
exacting  as  she  was  young  and  fair.  The  fear  that  if 
he  went  now  he  might  never  get  back  decided  him  to 
accept. 

Despite  his  inspirational  superiority  to  all  slow-but- 
sure  methods,  he  found  himself  unable  to  advance  one 
step  that  night  toward  the  girl  to  whom  he  had  made  a 
vow  of  service.  Mills  Harford  was  a  substantial  bar- 
rier, although  the  "bristles"  of  his  mustache  relaxed  to 
show  boyishly  charming  smiles.  By  everybody,  Jasper 
included,  "Harfy"  was  accorded  absolute  right  to  seat 
Miss  Lauderdale  at  table,  to  serve  her,  to  engage  her 
attention. 


84  LONESOME  TOWN 

Then  there  was  the  difficulty  of  Irene. 

"They  teased  me  like  everything  for  letting  Cousin 
Jane  snatch  you  out  of  the  box  to-night,"  she  confided 
to  Pape.  "You  see  she  took  me  by  surprise.  I  won't 
let  her  grab  like  that  again.  Don't  you  ever  worry. 
Nothing  is  impossible  to  Rene,  either." 

He  did  worry,  though.  In  her  he  caught  his  first 
glimpse  of  the  perquisites  of  "our  young  ladies  to- 
day," and  he  couldn't  help  worrying.  Why  should  he? 
And  yet,  looking  into  ardent  Irene's  eyes,  why  not? 

When  Pape  descended  the  brownstone  steps  to  the 
sidewalk  of  Fifth  Avenue,  it  was  not  late  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  company  to  whom  he  had  said  good- 
by.  But  he  smiled  to  think  how  Hellroaring  Valley 
had  been  wrapped  in  slumber  hours  and  hours  before. 

He  crossed  the  asphalt  to  the  park  side  and  made  his 
way  toward  Fifty-ninth  Street.  He  did  not  want  a 
cab.  A  walk  to  the  Astor  was  just  what  he  needed,  he 
felt.  It  would  help  him  to  straighten  out  some  of  the 
tangles  which  the  experiences  of  the  night  had  left  in 
his  brain. 

He  looked  off  to  his  right  upon  the  expanse  of  bare 
trees  with  their  background  of  tall,  still-lighted  build- 
ings. To  him  came  the  memory,  as  if  from  some  far- 
away day,  of  the  alone-ness  in  the  midst  of  city  throngs 
which  had  kept  him  loping  his  piebald  over  park  bridle 
paths. 

"Strange,"  she  had  called  this  night's  experience. 
Yet  she  could  not  appreciate  how  strange  was  the  fact 
that  he  was  not  lonely  now.  He  should  never  be  lonely 


SNUFFED  85 

again.  Had  he  not  met  her?  And  did  he  not  recog- 
nize her — Jane? 

Probably  she  did  not  yet  recognize  him.  She  had 
snuffed  his  offer  of  service  in  the  finding  of  that  un- 
named treasure  which  she  had  lost,  just  as  she  had 
snuffed  his  personal  interest  in  her  by  her  rather  rude 
dismissal  of  him  before  the  Metropolitan. 

But  what  she  did  or  said  or  thought  was  only  her 
side  of  it — not  necessarily  his.  He  stood  committed 
both  by  word  and  wish  to  accept  the  situation  as  she 
presented  it,  to  trust  her  wholly  in  return  for  her  re- 
fusal to  trust  him,  to  help  her  whether  she  wished  his 
help  or  no. 

And  this  because  he,  Peter,  had  met  her,  Jane ! 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  OLD  PARK  LADY 

/CENTRAL  PARK,  even  with  its  horde  of  tran- 
\^>|  sitory  inhabitants,  looked  more  than  ever  like 
home  to  Peter  Pape  this  late  afternoon.  Feeling  the 
necessity  of  a  private  conclusion  or  two,  he  loped  Pol- 
kadot  into  what  he  hoped  would  prove  the  less  used 
path.  His  thoughts,  like  the  pinto's  hoof-beats,  were 
of  a  rather  violent,  not  to  say  exclamatory  sort. 

Three  whole  days  since  he  had  met  her,  and  not  once 
since  had  he  seen  her !  Considering  the  emphasis  with 
which  he  had  interpolated  himself  into  her  acquaint- 
ance that  opera  evening,  the  length  of  the  unbroken 
after-pause  seemed  incredible.  Here  was  he,  lonelier 
than  before  receipt  of  the  advices  of  'Donis  Moore, 
in  that  now  he  knew  what  earlier  he  only  had  sus- 
pected he  was  missing. 

He  felt  as  forlorn  as  looked  a  bent  old  woman  who 
stood  beneath  the  trail-side  shade,  leaning  against  a 
tree.  Out  of  date  was  her  nondescript  bonnet  of  the 
poke  persuasion,  rusty  her  black  silk  dress,  ineffectual 
her  attitude.  Too  primitive  for  the  Society  into  which 
he  had  cantered  must  be  his  Far- West  methods,  since 
rusted  over  were  his  hopes  and  resultless  his  to-day. 

Sight  of  a  sheep  herd  browsing  over  "The  Green" 

sufficiently  surprised  and  pleased  his  pastoral  eye  as  to 

86 


THE  OLD  PARK  LADY  87 

brighten  temporarily  his  mood.  He  polkaed  Dot  down 
to  a  walk. 

A  flock  of  Dorsets  in  the  Great  Garden  of  New  York 
Town!  More  than  a  hundred  horned  heads  he  esti- 
mated them,  not  counting  the  wobbly-legged  lambs 
trailing  the  ewes.  Although  oil  was  Pape's  bonanza, 
cattle  was  his  stock  in  trade,  yet  he  felt  none  of  the 
cowman's  usual  aversion  for  the  wearers  of  fleece.  He 
was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  "mixed"  rancher,  with  sheep 
of  his  own  on  the  Hellroaring  reaches.  He  rejoiced 
that  these  animals,  at  least,  could  enjoy  the  company  of 
their  kind  and  graze  to  their  taste.  Indeed,  a  more 
satisfactory  pasture  could  not  have  been  found  for 
them,  except  for  the  fact  that  an  over-used  auto-road 
"unfenced"  that  side  of  it  next  the  bridle  path.  The 
condition,  precarious  both  for  the  sheep  and  the  drivers 
of  cars,  hung  heavily  in  his  consideration  until  he 
caught  sight  of  the  dog  that  was  on  guard. 

"What  d'you  think  of  that,  horse-alive?"  he  made 
demand  of  Polkadot.  "A  police  hound  instead  of  a 
collie — a  Belgian,  at  that — close-herding  the  woollies?" 

When  one  of  the  fattest  of  the  mutton-heads  waddled 
into  the  auto-greased  roadway  in  an  ambitious  expedi- 
tion toward  the  grass-tufted  border  along  the  path, 
Pape  pulled  his  painted  pony  to  a  stop  and  watched 
with  active  interest. 

"Quick,  Kicko,  round  her  up!" 

The  shouted  command  came  from  the  flock-master, 
appearing  at  a  run  around  the  far  side  of  the  band. 

Unmistakable  as  the  breed  of  the  dog  was  the  in- 
telligence of  his  work.  With  warning,  staccato  yelps 


88  LONESOME  TOWN 

he  dashed  from  among  the  more  discreet  of  his  charges, 
cut  off  the  stray  from  her  .goal,  snatched  her  by  a 
mouthful  of  wool  out  of  the  path  of  a  speeding  car, 
then  nipped  her  into  a  return  rush  to  the  safety  of  The 
Green. 

"Great  work,  Kicko !    Here,  boy,  I  want  to  shake !" 

Pape,  enthusiastic  over  the  best  bit  of  herding  he 
ever  had  seen  done  under  adverse  circumstances,  rode 
toward  the  dog  hero,  swung  out  of  the  saddle  and  met 
him  more  than  halfway  in  the  paw-shaking,  ear- 
scratching  formalities  that  followed. 

The  master,  a  stout,  middle-aged,  uniformed  expert, 
showed  himself  as  pleased  with  the  introduction  as  his 
canine  assistant.  He  gave  his  name  as  Tom  Hoey  of 
the  Sheep  fold,  the  gabled  roof  of  which  could  be  plainly 
seen  a  short  distance  south  and  nearer  the  park  wall. 
Willingly  enough  he  contributed  to  the  information 
fund  of  the  easy-going  stranger. 

Yes,  Kicko  was  a  police  dog,  the  gift  of  a  returned 
army  captain  and  the  only  herder  of  his  breed  in  cap- 
tivity. The  park  collie,  in  active  service  for  years,  had 
been  about  ready  for  retirement  at  the  time  of  the 
foreigner's  arrival.  A  short  chain  attached  to  the 
swivel  collars  on  the  necks  of  both  had  enabled  the  old 
Scot  to  teach  the  young  Belgian  the  trade  of  disciplin- 
ing woolly  quadrupeds  instead  of  two-legged  humans. 

"I,  for  one,  don't  hope  to  meet  a  better  policer  in 
this  world  and  I  sure  don't  expect  to  in  the  next,"  the 
owner  boasted.  "He's  got  a  whole  repertory  of  tricks 
that  he's  worked  out  for  his  own  amusement,  besides 
knowing  by  heart  all  the  dog  A-B-C's,  such  as  shaking 


THE  OLD  PARK  LADY  89 

hands;  speaking  and  fetching  things.  One  of  the  most 
useful  things  he  does  is  going  for  my  lunch  noontimes. 
He  brings  it  nice  and  hot  in  a  tin  pail  from  my  house 
by  the  wall  yonder.  There's  just  one  trouble  about 
him,  though — eh,  old  side  Kick?  If  he  meets  up  with 
one  of  the  many  friends  he's  made,  or  even  if  he  takes 
a  special  shine  to  somebody  new — Kicko's  one  fault  is 
his  sociability — he'll  like  as  not  present  my  meal  to 
some  one  that  ain't  half  as  hungry  or  as  entitled  to  it 
as  I." 

"We'll  meet  again." 

So  Pape  assured  the  shepherd  pair  on  continuing  his 
ride.  He  wished  that  all  the  folks  he  met  were  as 
friendly  and  as  easy  to  understand  as  they.  By  com- 
parison, for  instance,  each  and  every  member  of  that 
dressed-up  party  of  Gothamites  into  whose  midst  he 
had  insisted  himself  the  other  night  seemed  doubly 
complex. 

His  attitude  had  been  plain  as  day ;  theirs,  both  sepa- 
rately and  as  a  whole,  incomprehensible.  And  since 
that  evening,  the  conduct  of  all  had  been  as  misleading 
as  his  had  been  direct.  This  was  the  afternoon  of  the 
third  ineffectual  after-day.  It  was  all  right  for  hand- 
some fellows  like  the  traffic  cop  to  advise  him  to  do 
something  that  would  "make  'em  take  notice."  He 
had  done  it— done  it  so  well  that  they  had  noticed  him 
enough  to  decide  not  to  notice  him.  To  him  the  situa- 
tion seemed  to  call  for  some  deed  even  more  noticeable. 
Again,  whatf  Leaving  the  pace  to  the  piebald,  he 
brisked  along  in  review. 

At  the  enthusiastic  hour  of  six  A.M.  that  morning 


90  LONESOME  TOWN 

after  sighting  Society,  he  had  risen  and  rigged  himself 
to  do  and  dare  on  the  high-seas  of  adventure.  Any 
idea  of  adhering  to  the  original  "slow  and  steady"  stip- 
ulation of  his  experiment  not  already  quashed  by  first 
sight  and  sound  of  Miss  Lauderdale  must  have  been 
ruled  out  by  sub-consciousness  during  his  brief  sleep. 
Slow  and  steady  would  have  been  proper  enough  in 
almost  any  other  conceivable  case  of  discovering 
whether  a  woman  was  the  woman.  But  as  applied  to 
Jane,  any  method  other  than  gun-fire  quick  seemed 
somehow  a  reflection  on  her.  An  excellent  rule,  no 
doubt — slow  and  steady.  She,  however,  was  super- 
excellent — an  exception  to  any  rule. 

Realization  that  he  was  essaying  rather  an  early 
start  had  struck  him  as  he  steered  a  course  through 

Mr. or  Mrs.  Astor's  fleet  of  scrub  ladies,  tugging 

at  their  brush  anchors  over  the  seas  of  Jersey-made 
marble,  evidently  about  ready  to  call  it  a  night's  voyage. 
He  had  left  his  berth  without  any  call,  as  six  A.M. 
long  had  been  and  doubtless  long  would  remain  his 
hour  for  setting  sail  into  the  whitecaps  of  each  new 
day. 

So  transformed  was  The  Way  outside  that  he 
scarcely  could  recall  its  nocturnal  whiteness  or  gayety. 
Strict  business  ruled  it.  Luggage-laden  taxis  sped 
toward  or  from  the  ports  of  early  trains.  Surface  cars 
demanded  blatantly,  if  unnecessarily,  the  right  o'  way. 
Motor  trucks  groaned  hither  and  yon  with  their  mise- 
ries of  dripping  ice,  jangling  milk  cans,  bread,  vege- 
tables— what  not.  Only  the  pavements  were  empty  at 


THE  OLD  PARK  LADY  91 

that  hour.  Blocks  and  blocks  of  them  stretched  out, 
practically  uncontested. 

A  moment  he  "lay-to"  for  an  upward  survey  of  the 
greeting  he  had  bought  from  himself  to  himself,  which 
last  evening  had  seemed  the  howdy-doo  of  Destiny.  It 
wasn't  so  conspicuous  in  daytime  with  the  lights  off, 
although  the  contractor  had  been  clever  about  blocking 
in  behind  the  incandescents  so  that  the  letters  within 
the  bouquet  border  still  were  legible.  Even  had  they 
not  been,  he  shouldn't  have  felt  disappointed.  To 
every  electric  sign  its  night,  as  to  every  dog  his  day! 
Wasn't  he  now  the  gayest  dog  that  ever  believed  in 
signs?  And  wasn't  this  to  be  his  day? 

More  often  than  not  breakfast  to  Pape  was  a  matter 
of  bacon,  coffee  and  buckwheat  cakes.  Although  the 
more  expensive  restaurants  along  The  Way  were,  like 
the  lobby  of  his  hotel,  still  in  process  of  being  scrubbed 
out,  he  soon  found  a  chop-house  ready  to  "stack"  for 
him.  At  table  he  ate  rather  abstractedly,  his  mind  and 
most  of  his  fingers  engaged  with  the  sheaf  of  morning 
papers  collected  during  his  walk. 

Yes,  the  curiosity  of  reportorial  minds  to  the  number 
of  three  had  been  sufficiently  stirred  by  the  mystery 
of  the  new  sign  to  give  it  mention.  One  touched  the 
subject  only  to  drop  it,  frankly  suspicious  of  some  new 
advertising  insult.  Another  treated  it  in  jocular  vein, 
with  that  grateful  spur-of-the-moment  wit  which  oc- 
casionally enlivens  columns  thrown  together  under 
such  stress  of  time.  A  third  declared  its  ignorance  of 
the  why  fore  of  Why-Not  Pape,  but  had  no  objection 
to  his,  her  or  its  being  welcomed  to  the  city.  The  ques- 


92  LONESOME  TOWN 

tion  was  raised,  however,  of  just  what  awful  thing 
W.  N.  Pape  could  have  committed  in  his  past  to  need 
the  moral  support  of  so  rare  and  roseate  a  reassurance. 

When  the  last  drop  of  coffee  had  washed  down  the 
last  scrap  of  wheat-cake,  the  man  from  Montana 
further  treated  himself  to  a  series  of  chuckles.  Was 
the  joke  on  him  or  on  the  Big  Town?  Which  or 
whether,  it  was  catching  on.  And  there  was  one  small 
assortment  of  Ai  New  Yorkers  who  would  enjoy  the 
joke  with  him — who  knew  the  kingdom,  gender,  case- 
number  and  several  other  etceteras  of  Why-Not  Pape. 
That  is,  they  would  enjoy  it  if  not  too  suspicious  of 
him.  Just  about  how  suspicious  they  were  was  the 
next  thing  he  needed  to  know. 

That  supper  party  at  the  Sturgis  house  had  run  its 
courses  smoothly  enough,  at  least  on  the  surface.  But 
their  see-you-again-soons  had  a  haziness  which  he  could 
not  break  through.  It  is  true  that  Irene  had  met  the 
mention  of  his  favorite  pastime  of  horse-backing  in  the 
park  with  a  far  from  hazy  hint  that  they  "co-ride." 
But  that  possibility  he  had  preferred  to  leave  vague. 
He  had  "pulled  out"  creditably,  he  hoped — with  all  the 
good- form  he  remembered  having  been  taught  or  told 
about. 

The  evening's  paramount  issue  had  increased  in  im- 
portance overnight — that  matter  of  a  safe  robbed  of 
unnamed  loot.  What  could  the  stolen  treasure  be— of 
a  size  that  could  be  hidden  in  a  snuff-box,  yet  so  val- 
uable that  its  loss  was  tragedy? 

Jane  Lauderdale  was  a  number  of  wonderful  things. 
Was  she  wonderfully  unreasonable  or  more  wonder- 


THE  OLD  PARK  LADY  93 

fully  distrustful  of  him?  There  was  a  chance  that 
overnight  she  had  had  one  of  those  changes  of  mind 
said  to  be  the  pet  prerogative  of  the  fair.  Just  perhaps 
she  now  would  be  willing  to  accept  the  service  he  had 
offered — service  which  he  meant  should  be  hers  whether 
she  wished  it  or  not. 

The  next  impending  question  regarded  the  hour  at 
which  young  ladies  got  up  of  a  morning  in  this  wo- 
man's town.  This  he  put  to  the  sleepy-eyed  blond 
cashier  of  the  restaurant. 

"You  trying  to  kid  me,  customer?"  was  her  cautious 
reply.  "If  no,  it  depends  upon  where  said  lady  lives. 
Fifth  Avenue  in  the  Sixties?  Ain't  you  flapping  kinda 
high?  I'd  say  anywheres  from  ten  A.M.  to  twelve 
noon.  Why  not  jingle  up  her  maid  and  ask?  Oh, 
you're  welcome  and  to  spare.  Keep  the  change." 

Before  entering  the  nearest  cigar  store  to  act  on  this 
suggestion,  Pape  remembered  that  last  night  the  Stur- 
gis  'phone  had  been  declared  useless — its  wires  cut.  He 
called  for  the  repair  department  of  the  company.  The 
voice  with  a  rather  dubious  "smile"  at  the  other  end 
of  the  line  agreed  to  enquire  just  when  the  number 
would  be  restored  to  service. 

"Say,  Useless,"  came  the  answer  in  a  moment,  "that 
line's  in  order.  Hasn't  been  out.  I  just  got  an  O.  K. 
over  it.  You  must  have  got  wrong  information  from 
one  of  our  centrals.  Excuse,  please." 

He  would  have  "excused"  with  more  pleasure  if  his 
simple  question  had  not  started  a  series  of  others  more 
involved.  How  did  a  'phone  fallacy  fit  into  the  rob- 
bery plot?  Why  had  the  wheezy  butler,  Jasper,  been 


94  LONESOME  TOWN 

sent  afoot  to  the  nearest  police  station  if  the  wires  had 
not  been  cut?  Did  Jane  know  or  did  she  not  that  the 
line  was  in  order  when  she  stopped  him  in  his  attempt 
to  call  Headquarters  ? 

He  decided  not  to  "jingle  her  maid"  at  once  but  to 
await  the  hour  first  suggested  by  the  "blond"  cashier 
before  asking  answers.  Jane  Lauderdale  looked  the 
kind  of  girl  who  would  have  arisen  by  ten  A.M.  At 
any  rate,  he  would  give  her  benefit  of  doubt.  But  no 
mental  preparation  during  the  interim,  as  to  what  tack 
her  temper  might  take,  in  any  way  prepared  him  for 
that  morning's  second  shock. 

Jasper  answered — there  was  no  mistaking  his  voice. 
Pape  followed  the  announcement  of  his  name  with  a 
comment  over  the  speed  with  which  the  telephone  had 
been  fixed,  to  which  the  born  butler  replied  smoothly, 
impersonally,  non-committally. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Pape.  The  Telephone  Company  is  ex- 
ceedingly efficient,  sir." 

The  request  for  speech  with  Miss  Lauderdale  was 
met  with  equal  competence. 

"The  family  is  all  out.  They  left  early  this  morn- 
ing for  the  country,  sir,  to  seek  a  few  days  of  peace 
and  quiet." 

"All  of  them?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Pape,  all  of  them." 

"What's  their  address?" 

"They  left  no  address.  They  never  do,  sir,  when 
they  go  for  peace  and  quiet.  Good  day,  sir." 

With  which,  actually,  that  sebacious,  ostentatious, 
fallacious  importation  had  hung  up  on  him. 


THE  OLD  PARK  LADY  95 

To  Pape's  daily  inquiries  since  Jasper  had  replied 
with  consistent  politeness,  if  with  consistent  lack  of 
information.  The  Westerner  hated  him  for  his  very 
perfection  in  his  part;  was  inclined  to  the  belief  that 
America  was  no  place  for  an  intelligence  limited  to  be- 
ing a  butler. 

What  about  his — Why-Not's — peace  and  quiet? 
Wasn't  he  entitled  to  any  such  ?  Indignation  had  flung 
with  him  out  of  the  booth  that  first  morning;  had 
matched  his  pace  since ;  was  riding  with  him  to-day. 

In  the  interval  Pape  had  made  efforts  other  than  over 
the  Sturgis  telephone  to  locate  geographically  the  rural 
resting-place  mentioned  all  too  vaguely  by  Jasper.  His 
first  visit  to  that  mountainous  district  known  to  the 
Metropolitan  Police  as  "below  the  dead-line"  was  not 
in  the  squaring  of  certain  overdue  accounts  of  his  own 
which  had  been  the  basic  impulse  of  his  Eastern  exile, 
but  in  the  hope  of  locating  the  other  members  of  that 
Zaza  box-party. 

In  a  cloud-piercer  near  the  corner  of  William  and 
Wall  Streets  he  found  the  office  suite  occupied  by  ex- 
Judge  Samuel  Allen  and  associated  attorneys,  evidently 
an  affiliation  of  standing  "at  the  bar" — a  phrase  which, 
since  Volstead,  is  no  longer  misunderstood  as  meaning 
anything  but  "in  the  Law."  He  gained  admittance  into 
the  reception  room,  but,  so  far  as  achieving  audience 
with  the  head  of  the  firm,  the  legal  lair  proved  more 
impregnable  than  the  ranger-guarded  Yellowstone  to 
a  tusk-hunter. 

The  "line- fence"  was  ridden  by  thick-rouged,  thin- 
bloused  office  girls  who  doubtless  had  been  instructed 


96  LONESOME  TOWN 

that  all  unexpected  callers  were  suspicious  characters 
and  to  be  treated  accordingly.  Once  the  judge  was  in 
court,  which  court  no  one  seemed  to  know.  Pape  left 
his  name.  On  a  second  visit  he  was  allowed  to  "dig 
his  spurs"  into  chair  rungs  most  of  an  afternoon  under 
the  hopeful  glances  of  the  "dolls,"  while  awaiting  the 
end  of  an  alleged  conference,  only  to  be  told  with  none- 
too-regretful  apologies  that  Mr.  Allen,  having  been 
called  to  attend  the  directors  of  the  Hardened  Steel 
Corporation,  had  departed  without  knowing  that  Mr. 
Pape  awaited  him.  A  third  time 

But  it  is  enough — was  more  than  enough  for  him — 
that  he  never  broke  through  the  barrier  of  too-red  lips 
with  their  too-patent,  stock  lies;  never  caught  even  a 
long-distance  glimpse  of  the  jurist  of  small  person  and 
large  personality. 

Failure  to  find  the  likeable  Mills  Harf  ord  came  more 
quickly  and  saved  a  deal  of  time.  "Harfy's"  trail 
showed  plainly  in  the  City  Directory  and  his  "ranch" 
proved  to  be  another  of  those  "places  of  business" 
where  everything  but  business  was  attended,  a  real- 
estate  office  in  one  of  the  block-square  structures  that 
surround  the  Grand  Central  Terminal.  Mr.  Harford 
had  departed  on  a  yachting  trip  around  Long  Island, 
Pape  was  told — a  statement  which  he  had  no  cause 
to  doubt. 

Although  Peter  Pape  had  signaled  Broadway  in 
general  with  what  he  liked  to  call  the  "high  sign,"  his 
desire  for  adventure  had  particularized.  He  could  not 
be  satisfied  to  go  on  to  a  next,  with  the  first  only  begun. 


THE  OLD  PARK  LADY  97 

He  finished  what  he  started,  unless  for  some  reason 
stronger  than  his  will. 

More  than  by  the  beauty  of  Jane  Lauderdale's  face, 
he  was  haunted  by  its  look  of  fear.  The  little  drama 
at  the  Sturgis  house  that  night  could  not  have  been 
staged  for  benefit  of  himself,  whose  presence  there  was 
purely  accidental.  Its  unaccountable  denouement  had 
terrorized  the  aunt  as  well  as  niece.  Much  more  was 
unexplained  than  the  nature  of  the  stolen  treasure  and 
the  cause  of  that  false  report  anent  the  severed  tele- 
phone wires. 

To  epitomize  the  present  state  of  mind  of  Why-Not 
Pape,  "making  'em  notice  him"  had  boiled  down  into 
one  concentrated  demand  that  the  high-strung  girl 
whom  he  had  self -selected  and  later  approved  by  in- 
stinct instead  of  rule — that  Jane  Lauderdale  should 
notice  his  readiness  to  do  or  die  in  her  service. 

He  had  the  will.    Whither  was  the  way? 

Nights  and  days  had  passed  since  he  had  pressed 
that  thrilling  kiss  of  allegiance  upon  her  finger-tips. 
Yet  here  was  he  strolling  aimlessly  down  The  Way, 
after  having  stabled  Polkadot  for  an  equine  feast  au 
fait  and  himself  dined  at  a  restaurant  near  Columbus 
Circle.  The  bright  lights  could  have  no  allurement  for 
him.  Signs  were  dull  indeed  that  one  didn't  wish  to 
follow. 

The  wish  formed  in  his  mind  for  some  friend  with 
whom  to  talk.  Not  that  he  was  given  to  confidence  with 
men  or  cared  to  engage  any  feminine  ear,  save  one. 
But  he  would  have  appreciated  a  word  or  look  of  simple 


98  LONESOME  TOWN 

sympathy — a  moment  of  companionship  that  he  knew 
to  be  genuine  with 

He  turned  squarely  about  and  started  back  the  way 
he  had  come.  The  very  sort  of  friend  he  needed ! 

Kicko  would  be  off  duty  by  now  and  likely  as  glad 
as  he  to  improve  their  acquaintance,  so  pleasantly  be- 
gun. If  Shepherd  Tom  was  about  they  could  smoke 
and  talk  sheep.  There  was  a  lot  about  woollies  these 
B'way  folk  didn't  know — that,  for  instance,  they  could 
take  care  of  themselves  for  eight  months  of  the  year 
and  cost  only  seven  cents  a  day  for  the  other  four. 
Yes,  he  and  Tom  Hoey  could  talk  sheep  at  the  city's 
Fold.  He  would -seek  that  "peace  and  quiet"  which  he 
hoped  Jane  had  found  in  the  deepening  shade  of  the 
only  part  of  Manhattan  that  at  all  resembled  his  West ; 
was  more  likely  to  locate  it  there  than  along  the  avenue 
of  amperes  and  kilowatts. 

His  ambition  seemed  to  be  shared  before  announced. 
Scarcely  had  he  turned  into  the  roadway  leading  from 
Central  Park  West  to  the  Sheepfold  when  he  met  the 
police  dog  coming  out,  All  that  he  had  hoped  for  was 
Kicko's  greeting.  The  more  conveniently  to  vent  his 
feelings,  the  astute,  sharp-featured  Belgian  placed  upon 
the  ground  the  small  tin  bucket  which  he  was  carrying, 
evidently  the  lunch  pail  of  his  favorite  "trick."  Soon 
picking  it  up,  however,  he  issued  a  straight-tailed  invi- 
tation to  "come  along."  Pape  realized  that  he  had 
some  definite  objective — probably  was  taking  supper 
instead  of  lunch  to  Shepherd  Tom.  He  accepted. 

Many  a  lead  had  the  whys  and  why-nots  of  Peter 
Pape's  nature  forced  him  to  follow,  but  never  so  in- 


THE  OLD  PARK  LADY  99 

terestedly  had  he  followed  the  lead  of  a  dog.  And 
Kicko  showed  that  he  appreciated  the  confidence.  He 
would  dash  ahead;  would  stop  and  look  back;  would 
set  down  his  precious  pail,  most  times  merely  to  yap 
encouragement,  twice  to  return  to  his  new  friend  and 
urge  him  on  by  licking  his  hand. 

When  they  left  the  beaten  path  for  the  natural  park 
and  approached  a  hummock  marked  by  rocks  and  a 
group  of  poplars  whose  artistic  setting  Pape  had  ad- 
mired in  passing  earlier  that  afternoon,  the  police  dog's 
excitement  grew.  Beside  a  dark  mass,  hunched-over 
close  to  the  ground,  Kicko  dropped  the  bucket  with  a 
final  yelp  of  accomplishment. 

At  once  the  dark  mass  straightened  into  human 
shape.  Pape  stopped  and  stared.  Almost  at  once  he 
recognized  the  poke-bonneted  old  lady  with  whose  for- 
lorn appearance  he  had  compared  his  own  state.  Then 
she  had  stood  leaning  against  a  tree  at  the  foot  of  the 
hill.  Now  she  looked  to  have  been  digging  in  the 
woodsy  earth.  A  considerable  mound  of  soil  lay  be- 
side the  hole  over  which  she  had  crouched  and  she 
brandished  a  trowel  against  Kicko's  exuberant  impor- 
tunities. Her  back  was  toward  Pape. 

As  he  hesitated  over  whether  to  advance  or  face 
about,  disliking  both  to  startle  her  and  to  be  caught  in 
what  might  seem  the  retreat  of  a  spy,  he  overheard 
what  she  was  saying  to  the  dog.  He  shivered  from 
an  odd  sensation,  not  like  either  cold  or  heat,  that 
passed  up  his  spinal  column  and  into  his  neck. 

"No,  you  don't,  you  wriggly  wretch!  I  know  per- 
fectly well  what  you've  got  in  that  bucket  of  yours  this 
time  of  day — nothing  but  the  saved-up  old  bones  that 


ioo  LONESOME  TOWN 

they  don't  want  you  to  bury  in  the  flower-beds  about 
the  Sheepfold." 

When  Kicko,  as  if  acknowledging  himself  caught, 
seized  the  handle  of  his  pail  and  shook  it  toward  her 
appealingly,  she  took  off  the  lid  and  laughed  aloud  at 
his  ruse.  In  the  regardless  embrace  which  she  threw 
around  his  scraggy  neck,  she  spilled  what  showed  to 
be  a  collection  of  more  or  less  aged  bones. 

"Just  because  you're  so  attractive,  I'll  maybe  let  you 
have  your  way,"  she  informed  him  seriously  as  though 
addressing  a  human.  "If  I  don't  find  what  I'm  after, 
you  may  bury  your  precious  debris  as  I  scoop  back  the 
dirt.  But  you'll  have  to  wait  until  I —  Back,  now !  I 
tell  you,  you've  got  to  wait  until  I'm  sure  this  isn't  the 
place  where " 

Pape  didn't  stand  still  longer.  Her  voice — sweet, 
strong,  familiar — lured  him.  He  forgot  his  question 
to  advance  or  retreat.  He  advanced — and  rapidly.  By 
the  time  he  reached  her  he  had  outstrode  all  his  con- 
sideration for  her  age  and  forlorn  state.  His  hurry 
made  him  rough.  He  stooped  over  the  lowered  poke 
bonnet;  unclasped  the  two  arms  from  about  Kicko's 
neck ;  literally,  jerked  the  woman  to  her  feet. 

Well  proportioned,  for  so  old  and  ill-clad  a  lady,  did 
she  show  to  be  as  she  sprang  back  from  him,  surprised 
into  height,  straightness  and  lissome  lines.  The  face 
within  the  scoop  of  the  bonnet  was  pale  from  passion 
— surprise,  anger,  fear — or  perhaps  all  three.  She 
was 

"Jane!"  he  exclaimed. 

"You!"  cried  she. 

He  stared  at  her,  his  tongue  too  crowded  with  de- 


THE  OLD  PARK  LADY  101 

mands  to  speak  any  one  of  them.  He  continued  to 
stare  as  she  fell  back  to  her  knees  and,  with  her  trowel, 
refilled  the  hole  she  had  dug.  Before  he  realized  what 
she  was  about,  she  had  picked  up  a  pile  of  wilted  plants 
that  lay  nearby;  had  down-doubled  her  tallness, 
straightness  and  lissomeness  into  her  former  old-lady 
lines;  with  a  rapid,  shuffling  walk,  had  started  down 
and  around  the  hummock. 

"Just  a  minute,  Miss  Lauderdale,"  he  called.  "I 
didn't  mean  to  startle  you.  Can't  we  have  a  word  or 
two  or  three?" 

She  did  not  answer,  did  not  turn — only  hurried  away 
from  him  the  faster.  He  set  out  after  her;  recrossed 
the  bridle  path ;  entered  the  deepening  shadows  toward 
the  heart  of  the  park. 

Kicko,  who  had  shown  in  his  whines  a  spirit  torn 
by  regret  to  forsake  either  his  bones  or  his  friends,  now 
caught  up  with  Pape,  briefly  sniffed  his  hand,  then 
trotted  after  the  bent,  dingy,  scuttling  figure  merging 
into  the  gloom  beyond. 

The  dog's  appeal  she  heeded,  but  with  a  well-aimed 
stone. 

"Go  back,"  she  ordered  him.  "Don't  you  dare  fol- 
low me.  If  you  do— if  anybody  follows  me — I'll  find  a 
policeman  and  get  you  both  arrested  for  annoying  me." 

Kicko,  tail  between  legs,  skulked  back  in  the  general 
direction  of  his  treasure  pile. 

Pape,  too,  heeded  to  some  extent  her  warning,  evi- 
dently meant  more  for  him  than  the  dog.  But,  al- 
though he  slackened  his  pace,  he  did  not  turn  or  skulk. 
There  were  reasons  a-plenty  why  he  felt  justified  in 
pursuit. 


CHAPTER  XI 

DUE  EAST 

THE  greatest  of  parks  has  its  bright  sides,  many- 
faceted  as  the  Kohinoor,  croquet  grounds  for  the 
old,  benches  for  the  parlorless  tenement  young,  shaded 
arbors  for  the  love  possessed,  pagodas  for  picknickers, 
May  poles  for  the  youngsters,  roller-skating  on  the 
Mall,  rowing  on  the  lakes.  Just  as  a  jewel  catches  the 
light  from  only  one  direction  at  a  time,  however,  this 
emerald  of  the  city  has  also  its  shadows. 

Already  Why-Not  Pape  had  realized  this  of  his 
adopted  range ;  knew  that,  despite  the  scattering  of  such 
policemen  as  could  be  spared  from  pavement-beats  out- 
side and  the  greater  number  of  electric  lights  upon 
whose  surveillance  the  City  Fathers  appeared  to  place 
their  chief  dependence,  serious  crimes  occasionally  oc- 
curred in  Gotham's  great,  green  heart.  Even  during 
his  short  stay  he  had  noted  in  the  daily  news  tales  and 
tales  of  outlawry  that  would  have  called  out  posses  in 
Montana — of  women  held  up  afoot  or  in  taxis,  of  men 
relieved  of  their  valuables  at  gun-point,  of  children 
kidnapped  for  ransom,  of  a  region  of  caves  occupied 
by  bandits,  of  footloose  pickpockets  and  mashers. 

An  inclusive  thought  of  the  possibilities  of  the  re- 
gion in  the  dead  dark  of  a  moonless  night  was  what  had 

102 


DUE  EAST  103 

started  him  after  the  bent,  black  figure  scuttling  into 
the  fast-dropping  gloom  ahead.  She  had  repulsed  him 
even  more  ungratefully  than  she  had  the  dog — as  scorn- 
fully as  though  there  were  no  Metropolitan  Grand 
Opera  House  at  Thirty-ninth  Street  and  Broadway,  as 
though  her  Parian  pallor  had  not  turned  the  hue  of  the 
ardor  with  which,  a  few  nights  ago,  his  lips  had  pressed 
her  hand.  But,  whether  her  denial  of  him  was  from 
whim  or  necessity,  he  could  not  permit  her  to  cross  the 
park  unguarded  at  that  hour. 

And  surely  there  was  enough  else  that  was  strange 
about  this,  their  third  encounter,  to  have  overcome  the 
pride ful  hesitation  of  the  most  ill-treated  man.  Hours 
back,  in  mid-afternoon,  he  had  seen  her  in  the  witch- 
like  disguise  of  an  old  herb-hunter,  trying  to  locate 
some  particular  spot  without  arousing  the  suspicions 
either  of  passers-by  or  of  the  authorities.  Her  quest 
had  kept  her  long  past  the  most  fashionable  dinner 
hour.  Doubtless  she  had  waited  until  dusk  before  be- 
ginning the  actual  digging  with  her  trowel  in  order  to 
decrease  the  chances  of  interfering  in  what  must  be  a 
violation  of  the  most  sacred  park  regulations. 

The  sagacity  of  the  Belgian  dog  in  bringing  his 
bucket  of  bones  to  be  buried  where  the  burying  was 
easy  suggested  that  he  had  met  up  and  made  friends 
with  her  before  in  a  like  past  proceeding.  Now  that 
she  was  headed  in  the  general  direction  of  her  Fifth 
Avenue  home,  why  didn't  she  go  to  one  of  the  nearer 
exits,  hail  a  taxi  or  take  a  street-car  around  ?  Granting 
some  reason  why  she  preferred  to  walk,  why  not  by 
the  foot-path  along  Traverse  Road,  only  a  few  rods 


104  LONESOME  TOWN 

below?  That  would  have  brought  her  out  of  the  park 
almost  opposite  the  Sturgis  home. 

But  she  was  not  keeping  to  any  of  the  paths ;  seemed 
rather  to  avoid  them  as  she  hurried  due  east  across  the 
meadow  known  as  "The  Green." 

Casting  off  speculation  as  unprofitable  for  the  nonce, 
Why-Not  Pape  kept  after  her,  trailing  with  care  lest 
she  realize  that  her  biped  protector  had  more  dogged- 
ness  than  the  rebuked  canine.  It  wasn't  an  extremely 
romantic  way  of  "Seeing  Nellie  Home,"  but  certainly 
had  speed  and  mystery.  Perhaps,  at  that,  romance 
would  end  the  evening,  as  it  did  in  books,  plays,  pic- 
tures ! 

When  about  halfway  across  the  park,  the  girl 
changed  her  course  southward  toward  the  truck  road. 
Pape,  hoping  that  she  meant  to  take  the  beaten  track 
the  latter  part  of  her  strange  retreat,  increased  his  pace 
in  order  to  cut  in  ahead  of  her.  Not  that  he  intended 
to  force  an  interview  upon  her  in  her  present  mood — he 
had  too  much  consideration  for  himself  to  invite  an- 
other command  which  he  must  break.  He  wished 
merely  to  conceal  the  bulk  of  himself  in  the  first  con- 
venient shadow,  there  to  wait  until  she  had  passed, 
then  again  to  follow  at  a  distance  discreet,  but  suf- 
ficiently close  to  enable  him  to  be  of  service  in  case  of 
need. 

By  running  the  last  hundred  yards,  he  realized  this 
scheme;  reached  the  traverse  first;  lowered  himself  over 
the  stone  abutment ;  dropped  to  the  flagging  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  cut.  The  road  he  knew  to  be  one  of  four 
which  cross-line  Central  Park  as  unostentatiously  as 


DUE  EAST  105 

possible  to  accommodate  the  heavy  vehicular  traffic 
from  East  Side  to  West  and  back  again.  Much  as  he 
resented  every  reminder  of  the  fallacy  of  Polkadot's  pet 
illusion  and  his  own — that  this  was  a  bit  of  home — he 
appreciated  that  Father  Knickerbocker,  even  for  the 
sake  of  giving  his  rich  and  poor  this  vast  melting  pot, 
could  not  have  asked  "business"  to  drive  around  an 
oblong  extending  from  Fifty-ninth  to  One-hundred- 
tenth  Streets.  It  was  something  to  rejoice  over  that, 
while  utility  was  served,  the  roadways  were  sunk  so 
deep  that  the  scenic  effect  of  the  whole  was  scarcely 
marred. 

During  his  wait  close  against  the  shadowed  side  of 
the  wall,  Pape's  thoughts  sped  along  at  something  the 
recent  pace  of  his  feet.  The  look  on  Jane  Lauderdale's 
face  when  he  had  surprised  her  at  her  digging  just  now 
was  that  same  look  of  fear  which  had  haunted  him 
since  she  had  opened  her  restored,  but  emptied  heir- 
loom box.  The  strangeness  of  her  behavior  afterward, 
the  cruelty  of  her  suspicion  of  him,  her  denial  of  him 
to-night — all  only  emphasized  that  pitiable,  terrorized 
look. 

Had  her  object  then  and  now  the  sameness  of  her 
look?  Was  she  seeking  over  the  expanse  of  the  park 
that  mysterious,  stolen  something  which  formerly  had 
been  contained  in  a  snuff-box?  If  so,  what  clew  could 
she  have  found  that  it  might  be  cached  beneath  the 
poplars  ? 

Buried  treasure!  The  motif  had  inspired  thrillers 
since  thrills  had  been  commercialized.  But  treasure 
buried  in  Manhattan's  heart?  So  improbable  was  the 


106  LONESOME  TOWN 

thought  that,  except  for  one  thing,  he  might  have  ad- 
judged the  eccentric-acting  Miss  Lauderdale  to  be 
mildly  mad — the  one  thing  being  that  he  knew  she  was 
sane. 

He  did  not,  therefore,  waste  time  doubting  the  entire 
defensibility  of  his  self -selected  lady.  She  had  good 
reason  for  covering  her  personality  by  the  garb  and 
gait  of  a  crone  before  essaying  her  hunt ;  for  feigning 
to  gather  herbs  while  the  daylight  lasted;  even  for  re- 
fusing to  recognize  him  after  that  first  startled  mono- 
syllable which  had  been  the  extent  of  her  half  of  their 
interview.  In  bonnet  and  black  she  had  every  chance  of 
being  considered  inside  the  law  in  the  Irish,  mother- 
loving  eyes  of  most  of  the  "sparrow  cops,"  although 
literally  well  outside.  Dressed  as  the  upper-crust  young 
beauty  he  first  had  met  three  nights  ago,  she  would 
have  attracted — and  deservedly — her  "gallery"  in  no 
time. 

Come  to  consider,  her  crooked  course  home  was  also 
logically  straight.  Her  disguise  would  have  aroused 
suspicion  in  a  taxi  and  made  her  conspicuous  in  a  street- 
car. Since  she  knew  her  park,  the  cross-cut  home  was 
preferable. 

As  the  mystery  of  Jane  and  Jane's  tactics  decreased, 
however,  the  correlative  mysteries  increased — of  the 
selective  robbery,  the  lied-about  'phone  wires,  the  park 
as  a  cemetery  for  something  literally  "lost"  and  the 
direction,  or  mis-direction  of  the  chief  mourner's 
search. 

A  culminative  interrogation  point  to  add  to  his  col- 
lection was  her  next  lead.  She  entered  the  Traverse 


DUE  EAST  107 

quite  as  his  trailing  sense  had  foretold  at  a  spot  where 
the  wall  was  easily  negotiable.  There  he  waited,  as- 
suming that  the  rest  of  her  route  home  would  be  direct 
and  planning,  now  that  he  had  been  assured  of  her 
presence  in  town,  that  later  in  the  evening  he  would 
telephone  the  most  direct  and  forceful  plea  of  which  he 
was  capable  for  an  immediate  interview. 

But  again  she  upset  his  calculations. 

Instead  of  following  the  asphalted  footpath  that 
hemmed  the  cobbles  on  one  side  of  the  cut,  she  picked 
her  place  and  scaled  the  south  wall.  Although  the  sec- 
tion confronting  him  was  higher,  Pape  lost  no  time  in 
following  her  example  and  gained  the  top  to  see  her 
dodging  past  one  of  the  scattered  lights.  Darkness  had 
settled.  Appreciating  how  easily  he  might  lose  her  in 
that  unfamiliar  section  of  municipal  tumble-land,  he 
decreased  the  gap  between  them. 

A  veritable  butte  loomed  in  her  path,  but  this  she 
took  like  a  mountaineer.  To  Pape  she  appeared  to  be 
executing  some  sort  of  an  obstacle  race  with  herself. 
In  his  self-appointed  capacity  of  rear-guard  there  was 
nothing  for  him  but  to  follow.  Being  something  of  a 
climber  himself,  he  reached  the  top  just  behind  her, 
despite  her  advantage  of  a  trail  which  he  had  not  been 
able  to  find.  Rounding  one  of  the  bowlder- formed 
crags  that  gave  picturesqueness  to  the  baby  mountain, 
he  pulled  up  short. 

Jane  was  standing  some  few  yards  ahead,  her  bent 
back  toward  him,  a  quaint,  distinct  silhouette  in  the 
reflected  light  from  Fifty-ninth  Street.  As  she  did  not 
once  glance  over-shoulder,  she  evidently  considered  his 


io8  LONESOME  TOWN 

pursuit  thrown  off.  She  may  have  paused  to  steady  the 
pulses  disturbed  by  her  lively  climb;  perhaps  was  enjoy- 
ing the  electrical  display  which  so  fascinated  him. 

Indeed  it  was  worth  a  long-time  look,  that  fairy- 
land of  The  Plaza,  as  seen  through  the  framing  fringe 
of  trees,  with  its  statues  and  fountains  agleam;  the 
hotel-house  of  fifty-thousand  candles,  all  lit;  the  lines 
of  Fifth  Avenue's  golden  globes  stretching  indefinitely 
beyond ;  on  all  sides,  far  and  near,  the  banked  sky-line 
of  bright-blinking,  essentially  real  palaces  of  modern- 
ity which  yet  were  so  much  more  inconceivable  than 
Munchausen's  wildest  dream.  And  that  foreground 
figure  of  an  old  woman  on  the  crag — it  might  have 
been  posed  as  a  fanciful  conception  of  the  Past  paus- 
ing to  realize  the  Present — straining  to  peer  into  the 
Future. 

Into  this  picture,  changing  and  marring  it,  intruded 
a  man.  Up  over  the  far  side  of  the  abutment  and 
straight  toward  the  girl,  as  though  expected,  he  came. 
His  appearance  was  the  most  distinct  shock  of  the  eve- 
ning to  Pape. 

"A  rendezvous !"  he  told  himself  with  sinking  heart. 
"She  had  to  get  rid  of  me — she  had  to  hurry — in  order 
to  keep  a  rendezvous." 

Her  irregular  course,  her  disregard  of  traveled 
paths,  her  assault  of  this  rock  heap — everything  in  the 
adventure  except  how  she  came  to  be  rooting  among 
the  poplars  now  seemed  explained.  Mentally  he  flayed 
himself  for  his  stupid  assumptions  and  sense  of  per- 
sonal responsibility  for  her  safety.  He  turned  to  de- 


DUE  EAST  109 

scend  the  way  he  had  come — no  need  for  her  to  know 
what  a  following  fool  he  had  made  of  himself. 

A  certain  quality  of  alarm  in  what  he  at  first  had 
thought  her  greeting  of  the  man  stopped  him.  Then 
forward  he  sprang,  like  a  fragment  blasted  from  the 
rock.  He  closed  the  gap  between  and  laid  on  the  collar 
and  elbow  of  the  lounger  who  had  accosted  her  a  vio- 
lent grip. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  him — drop  him  over  or  run 
him  in?" 

More  calmly  than  might  have  been  expected,  he 
turned  to  the  little  old  lady  of  his  pursuit,  the  while 
holding  the  fellow  precariously  near  what  might  be 
called,  by  phantasy  of  the  night-lights,  a  "precipice." 

"You — again?"  Whether  from  dread  or  relief, 
Jane  shuddered.  "Are  you  everywhere?" 

"Why  not?" 

His  captive  ceased  squirming  to  whimper.  "Leave 
me  go,  officer.  I  wasn't  meaning  no  harm  to  the  old 
girl.  Just  thought  I  could  help  her  down  onta  a  safer 
footing.  Likely  you  had  a  mother  onct  yourself.  For 
her  sake,  have  a  heart." 

"He  knows  I'm  not  old.  He  has  troubled  me  be- 
fore. If  you'll  hold  him  a  moment  to  make  sure  that 
he  doesn't  follow,  I — I'd  be  much  obliged." 

Jane,  seeing  her  opportunity,  took  it;  was  off  with 
the  agility  of  a  Yellowstone  doe;  gained  a  trail  and 
disappeared  down  the  side  of  the  butte. 

Pape  did  more  than  obey  her  admonition  to  hold 
and  make  sure.  That  the  meeting  was  rendezvous 
rather  than  coincidence  persisted  in  his  fears.  Odd, 


i  io  LONESOME  TOWN 

otherwise,  that  she  should  come  straight  to  the  spot 
where  the  man  was  waiting,  as  if  for  her.  Even  in  her 
complaint  that  he  had  troubled  her  before  she  admitted 
previous  meetings.  Perhaps  his  own  second  appear- 
ance of  the  evening  was  forcing  both  to  play  parts : 
had  made  a  sudden  change  of  plan  seem  advisable  to 
her;  would  irritate  the  man  into  an  attempt  to  deal  out 
punishment  for  the  interference.  Would  the  two  meet 
afterward  at  some  second-choice  point?  Pape  decided 
to  "look  in";  by  way  of  a  start,  dragged  his  captive 
tinder  an  electric  light  which  cast  a  sickly  glow  over  the 
flattened  dome  of  the  butte. 

At  once  he  went  on  guard  against  the  "fightingest" 
face  he  ever  had  glimpsed,  set  atop  the  bull-neck  of  a 
figure  that  approximately  matched  his  own  in  height 
and  weight,  if  not  range  iron.  The  fellow's  features 
were  assorted  for  brutishness,  nose  flattened  as  from 
some  past  smash,  lips  thick,  eyes  small,  ears  cauliflower, 
hair  close-clipped.  That  a  woman  of  Jane  Lauderdale's 
type  should  have  anything  in  common  with  so  typical 
a  "pug"  was  incogitable. 

For  a  moment,  the  pale  eyes  in  turn  studied  him 
through  their  narrowed,  close-set  shutters,  evidently 
"marking"  for  later  identification.  Then,  in  an  unex- 
pected, forceful  shove  the  inevitable  bout  began.  Had 
Pape  not  already  braced  himself  against  just  such  a 
move,  he  must  have  toppled  off  the  rocks.  As  hap- 
pened, he  let  go  his  hold  and  swung  his  body  into 
balance. 

"Hell's  ashes,  you're  no  cop !" 

The  aggressor's  exclamation  was  punctuated  by  two 


DUE  EAST  in 

professionally  ready  fists.  The  right  one  led  with  a 
surety  that  was  in  itself  a  warning.  Only  by  an  in- 
stinctive duck  of  his  head  did  Pape  limit  its  damage 
to  a  sting. 

A  decade  or  two  has  passed  since  Montana,  while 
still  carrying  "hardware"  for  hard  cases,  learned  that 
differences  of  opinion  may  be  settled  by  the  use  of  more 
natural  weapons ;  that  punishment  may  be  exacted  with- 
out calling  in  the  coroner.  Even  had  this  metropolitan 
fistic  opening  missed  in  point  of  impact,  Why-Not 
Pape  would  have  offered  satisfaction  without  thought 
of  recourse  to  the  gun  nestling  under  his  left  arm-pit. 

Nature  had  been  the  Westerner's  trainer,  a  silver-tip 
grizzly  his  one-best  boxing  instructor.  With  an  awk- 
wardly efficient  movement,  he  advanced  upon  his  more 
stealthy  challenger.  His  arms  carried  close  that  he, 
might  get  all  possible  leverage  behind  his  punches,  he 
waited  until  well  within  reach,  then  issued  a  series  o£ 
short-arm  jabs. 

The  other,  evidently  trained  to  the  squared  circle, 
depended  upon  his  far-reaching  right,  which  again  he 
landed  before  his  bear-like  opponent  could  cover.  Be- 
yond an  involuntary  grunt,  however,  its  effect  was  nil. 
The  Pape  jaw  seemed  of  hewn  oak.  In  another 
breath  the  bear-cuffs  began  to  fall,  swift,  strong,  con- 
fusing. 

The  New  Yorker  tried  a  run-around,  for  the  butte 
top  had  not  the  ring  area  to  which  apparently  he  was 
accustomed  in  his  "leather  pushing."  A  punishing  left, 
delivered  from  an  impossible  angle,  cut  him  off.  He 
had  no  choice  but  to  walk  up  to  the  medicine  bottle 


112  LONESOME  TOWN 

whose  stopper  was  out.  He  feinted,  but  Pape  seemed 
not  to  understand  what  was  meant  by  such  tactics — 
only  hit  the  harder.  He  attempted  a  "one-two" — with 
his  left  to  jar  Pape's  head  into  position  for  a  crushing 
right — and  met  a  method  of  blocking  which  appeared 
to  be  new  to  him — not  so  much  blocking,  in  fact,  as  get- 
ting a  punch  home  first.  One  proved  enough ;  carried 
the  "ice"  to  the  Gothamite;  stretched  him  for  a  couple 
of  counts  of  ten.  The  silver-tip's  pupil  had  won. 

Pape  did  not  wait  for  a  second  round.  He  was 
satisfied  that  his  knock-out  would  hold  sufficiently 
long  for  any  of  Jane  Lauderdale's  purposes  or  his  own. 
Down  in  the  direction  which  the  girl  had  taken  over 
the  rocks  he  scrambled,  but  could  see  no  sign  of  her. 
She  had  not,  then,  stayed  to  witness  the  fight,  although 
the  whole  encounter  had  taken  but  a  moment.  Whether 
or  not  he  had  saved  her  an  unpleasant  scene,  he  had 
lost  her.  Was  it  always  to  be  thus — touch  and  go? 
He  wouldn't  have  it.  He'd  beat  her  at  her  own  game. 

Directly  as  he  could  calculate  and  at  his  top  speed, 
he  set  out  for  the  Arsenal  gate;  there  took  a  stand  on 
about  the  spot  from  which  he  had  intercepted  Jasper 
at  the  somewhat  less  exciting  start  of  this  same  chase 
several  evenings  ago.  Surely  she  now  would  make 
straight  for  home,  whatever  may  have  been  her  reason 
for  visiting  the  butte ! 

His  eyes,  searching  for  a  poke-bonneted  figure  in 
black,  soon  were  rewarded.  Through  the  pedestrian 
gate  near  which  he  stood  in  deep  shadow  she  came. 
Watching  her  chance  with  the  traffic,  she  darted  across 
the  greased  trail  of  the  avenue  and,  once  on  the  oppo- 


DUE  EAST  113 

site  sidewalk,  turned  south.  Pape  continued  to  pur- 
sue along  his  side  of  the  street,  determined  to  finish  his 
task  of  safeguarding  her  until  the  front  door  of  her 
aunt's  house  should  shut  her — only  briefly,  he  hoped — 
from  his  sight. 

But  what  spirit  of  perversity  was  ruling  her?  To- 
ward the  steps  of  the  Sturgis  brownstone  she  did  not 
turn;  did  not  give  them  so  much  as  a  glance.  Briskly 
as  before  she  continued  down  the  avenue  until  at  the 
Sixty-third  Street  corner  she  again  turned  east. 

Was  the  house  to  be  gained  by  some  rear  entrance 
from  the  lower  street — one  made  advisable  by  the  dis- 
guise she  wore?  From  its  mid-block  position,  this 
supposition  did  not  seem  tenable.  Pape  decided  to  take 
no  chances,  except  with  the  traffic.  Crossing  the  street 
with  a  rush,  he  gained  a  point  a  hundred  or  so  feet  be- 
hind her,  then  timed  his  steps  with  hers.  Due  east 
they  walked,  at  a  good  pace,  but  without  undue  hurry. 
She  seemed  fully  reassured.  Although  she  inclined 
her  young  face  and  bent  her  young  back  to  the  old  part, 
she  did  not  glance  back  as  though  nervous  over  pos- 
sible pursuit.  The  block  was  lined  mostly  with  homes 
— of  the  near-rich,  he  judged  from  the  look  of  them. 
Of  the  few  people  who  passed  none  gave  more  than  a 
casual  glance  at  the  actively  shuffling  "old  lady." 

They  crossed  what  the  street  sign  told  Pape  was 
Madison  Avenue ;  passed  several  apartment  houses  and 
more  residences.  Across  Park  and  Lexington,  still  due 
east,  the  tone  of  the  section  fell  off.  From  Third 
Avenue  onward  it  went  continually  "down."  Pape  kept 
one  eye  on  the  figure  he  was  following  and  the  other 


114  LONESOME  TOWN 

on  his  surroundings,  figuratively  speaking.  Both  were 
interesting.  This  was  his  first  excursion  into  the  far 
East  Side  and  he  was  surprised  by  the  mid-width  of 
Manhattan  Isle. 

They  came  to  a  block  lofted  with  tenements  on  one 
side  and  shadowed  by  huge,  cylindric  gas  tanks  on  the 
other.  Children  swarmed  the  sidewalk  thick  as  ants 
over  a  home-hillock  and  screamed  like  Indians  on  ram- 
page. Washings  left  out  for  overnight  drying  were 
strung  from  one  fire-escape  to  another  of  the  scaly 
brick  fronts.  As  though  laving  the  cross-street's  dirty 
feet,  the  East  River  shimmered  dimly  in  the  lights 
from  shore  and  from  passing  steam  craft.  Beyond, 
loomed  that  isle  of  punishment  dreams  come  true — 
the  Blackwell's  which  politicians  would  rename  "Wel- 
fare." 

Thoughts  murky  as  the  water  at  the  foot  of  the  hill 
came  to  Peter  Pape.  Could  Jane  Lauderdale  be  seek- 
ing the  river  for  surcease  from  some  disappointment  or 
fear  more  direful  than  he  had  supposed  ?  Why  should 
she  be,  with  youth,  beauty  and  devotion  all  her  own? 
And  yet,  why  not?  Others  as  young,  fair  and  fondly 
desired  had  been  depressed  to  such  extent.  His  heart 
swelled  with  protective  pity  for  her.  His  pulses  beat 
from  more  than  the  speed  with  which  he  closed  the  dis- 
tance between  them  to  about  twenty  feet,  that  he  might 
be  ready  for  emergency. 

They  had  come  to  a  building  which  broke  the  tene- 
ment line,  a  relic  residence  of  by-gone  days.  With  a 
sudden  turn,  the  little  old  lady  undertook  the  steps.  So 
close  was  Pape  that  he  pulled  the  Fedora  over  his  eyes 


DUE  EAST  115 

lest  she  recognize  him.  But  he  need  not  have  feared. 
She  did  not  look  back.  Her  attention  was  focused 
ahead  upon  some  one  who  sat  on  the  small  Colonial- 
type  stoop — some  one  who  had  been  waiting  for  her. 

"Home,  dear,  at  last !"  Pape  overheard  the  greeting 
in  a  deep,  rich  voice.  "I  couldn't  imagine  what  was 
keeping  you.  I  almost  risked  starting  out  in  search  of 
you.  Did  you " 

He  heard  no  more.  But  he  saw  more  than  he 
wished.  The  some  one  arose,  a  tall,  strong,  masculine 
outline  against  the  flickering  gas  light  from  inside  the 
hall;  clasped  an  arm  about  her  shoulders;  lowered  a 
fine-cut  profile,  crowned  by  a  mass  of  lightish  hair,  to 
her  kiss.  The  pair  entered  the  house  together  and 
closed  the  door. 

Sans  preface,  the  volunteer  escort  reached  the  crux 
of  his  conclusions.  He  had  seen  his  "Nellie"  home, 
yes.  And  the  anticipated  romance  had  come  at  eve- 
ning's end — romance  with  another  man ! 


CHAPTER  XII 
WHAT  A  WELCOME! 

AT  exactly  ten  of  the  clock  next  morning  Peter 
Stansbury  Pape,  Esquire,  garbed  in  the  form 
prescribed  by  the  chart  on  the  wall  of  his  Astor  suite, 
was  admitted  for  the  second  time  to  the  Sturgis  brown- 
stone.  He  had  awakened  with  the  idea.  His  mind, 
which  last  night  had  felt  shell-shocked  out  of  its  nor- 
mal functions  by  that  "home-at-last-dear"  bomb,  must 
have  worked  it  out  while  he  slept.  The  telephone,  Jas- 
per of  the  jowls  and  a  certain  exuberant  "young  lady 
of  to-day" — all  seemed  to  approve  it.  Even  Aunt 
Helene,  who  received  him,  wore  a  manner  that  went 
with  her  ante-meridian  negligee,  pliable  and  gracious 
as  its  material  of  rose-hued  Georgette. 

She  was  so  glad  to  see  him  again,  although  he  was 
a  very  naughty  person  to  have  permitted  her  to  believe 
him  a  detective  the  other  night.  Yes,  her  niece  had 
explained  all  about  him  after  he  had  gone.  Still,  she 
supposed  that  he  meant  well — her  pet  charity  was  to 
believe  the  best  of  every  one.  And  she  was  so  relieved 
that  all  of  them  had  lived  through  the  excitement  that 
she  could  have  forgiven  a  worse  crime  than  his  effort 
to  help  under  false  pretense.  She  had  narrowly  saved 
herself  a  complete  nervous  collapse  by  a  few  days  ab- 
sence from  the  scene  of  the  robbery — that  robbery  of 

116 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  117 

nothing  at  all  except  a  keepsake  of  such  inappreciable- 
value  that  its  loser  would  not  name  its  name.  Her 
niece,  Miss  Lauderdale,  always  had  been  a  rather  se- 
cretive, sentimental  girl,  and  had  since  regretted,  she 
felt  sure,  the  worry  she  had  caused  them. 

"We  never  permit  ourselves  to  forget  that  she  is  an 
orphan,  poor  dear,"  added  the  matron.  "Irene  tries  to 
make  everything  up  to  her.  Really,  she  is  fonder  of 
her  cousin  than  she  could  be  of  any  one  short  of  a  twin. 
And  I  am  very  glad  to  have  it  so.  Jane  has  such  a  good 
influence  over  Irene.  She  is  much  older,  you  know." 

"And  has  Miss  Lauderdale  no — no  brothers  or " 

the  visitor  began. 

"No  near  relative  except  ourselves,  nor  money 
enough  to  assure  her  independence.  But  we  are  only 
too  happy  to  have  her  need  us,  to  love  her  and  provide 
for  her.  She  is — "  Mrs.  Sturgis  hesitated  and  seemed 
to  be  choosing  her  words  with  a  nice  regard  for  the 
delicacy  of  the  subject.  "She  is  perhaps  just  a  bit 
strong-minded  for  the  taste  of  men,  our  dear  Jane. 
But  strength  is  a  splendid  quality  in  a  woman  if  ap- 
plied in  the  right  direction.  Don't  you  think  so?  Per- 
haps you  don't,  though,  being  a  tower  of  strength  your- 
self. Anyway,  Jane  Lauderdale  is  a  dear  girl — and  so 
dependable." 

Mrs.  Sturgis  did  hope  he  was  enjoying  to  the  full 
his  stay  in  New  York.  Yes,  her  daughter  would  be 
down  directly  and  it  was  nice  of  him  to  ask  the  child 
riding.  She  did  not  often  consent  to  her  essaying  the 
park.  Irene's  daring  was  her  real  reason  for  keeping 
their  horses  in  the  country,  although  she  pretended  that 


tiiS  LONESOME  TOWN 

it  was  for  the  horses'  sake.  He,  being  such  a  friend  of 
her  niece,  came  well  recommended.  Miss  Lauderdale 
had  told  state  secrets  about  him — had  admitted  at 
Irene's  demand  that  he  was  the  most  superb  horseman 
she  had  met  in  the  West.  That  pronounced  him  cap- 
able of  taking  care  of  a  woman  if  any  one  could.  Irene 
rode  well,  to  be  sure.  But  there  always  was  a  risk 
about  a  rented  mount.  And  there  were  so  many  unex- 
pected turns  along  the  park  bridle  paths  and  such  whiz- 
zing of  cars  and  shrieking  of  sirens.  She  hoped  that 
he  had  selected  a  safe  mount  for  her  child. 

"I  thought  some,  ma'am,  of  having  Polkadot,  my 
own  friend  horse,  saddled  up  feminine,"  Pape  advised 
her.  "But  he  ain't  used  even  to  the  skirts  of  a  habit 
coat.  Besides  which,  it  might  have  put  his  Roman 
nose  out  of  joint  to  see  me  forking  another.  No  tell- 
ing what  a  jealous  horse  will  do." 

"Any  more  than  a  jealous  woman,"  she  contributed. 

"Can't  say  as  to  the  women.  But  I  reckon  that, 
jealous,  they  ain't  agreeable  or  safe,  either.  I've  made 
a  practice  of  sloping  along  at  the  first  eye-flicker  of  that 
sort  of  trouble.  But  you  cheer  up,  Mrs.  Sturgis.  The 
filly  I  picked  as  a  trailmate  for  my  Dot  this  morning  is 
as  reliable  as  the  hobbies  in  the  riding  school." 

Despite  her  manner — and,  positively,  she  was  treat- 
ing him  like  an  eligible — the  mother's  black  brows  had 
lifted  semi-occasionally  during  his  speech,  he  presumed 
at  his  choice  of  language.  Although  he  jotted  down  a 
mental  note  of  the  necessity  of  increased  care  to  weed 
out  his  unseasonable  crop  of  hardy  range  vernacular, 
somehow  her  presence  made  him  worse.  He  remem- 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  119 

bered  having  read  somewhere  that  the  choice  of  topics 
in  a  refined  duet  of  mixed  sexes  should  be  left  to  the 
lady.  The  thought  proved  restful ;  left  him  some  spare 
time  for  self-communings. 

Why  hadn't  Jane  Lauderdale  at  the  very  start  of  the 
game  told  him  that  she  was  married?  Worse  he 
wouldn't — couldn't — believe  of  her.  To  do  her  jus- 
tice, she  hadn't  exactly  encouraged  him,  yet  she  scarcely 
could  have  helped  seeing  with  both  eyes  bandaged  the 
weak  state  he  was  in. 

When  she  had  thrown  open  a  top-floor-front  window 
of  that  old,  scaly,  painted-brick  retreat  of  hers  last 
night,  had  she  observed  him  standing  in  the  shadow  of 
the  odorous  gas  tank  opposite?  If  so,  did  she  under- 
stand the  hard-dying  hope  which  had  kept  him  stationed 
there  an  hour,  with  five  minutes  thrown  in  to  benefit 
the  sickening  doubt  which  had  been  tricked  into  cer- 
tainty? 

If  she  had  seen  and  understood,  did  she  pity  or  exult 
over  his  observances  and  deductions?  The  building 
was  four  stories  and  an  attic  high.  The  variance  in 
window  curtaining  proclaimed  it  a  "flat"  house  con- 
taining at  least  four  separate  sets  of  tenants.  As  proof, 
a  young  mother  had  emerged  with  a  wailing  infant 
onto  the  third  floor  fire-escape  landing;  a  party  of  four, 
shirt-sleeved  and  kimono-clad,  could  be  seen  playing 
cards  at  a  table  just  within  the  windows  of  the  second- 
floor  front;  the  shades  of  the  first  were  jerked  down 
when  the  gas  was  lit.  And  surely  none  who  could  af- 
ford the  space  of  an  entire  house  would  have  endured 
the  district. 


120  LONESOME  TOWN 

That  beneficial  five  minutes  which  failed  to  benefit 
he  had  thrown  in  after  the  top  floor  lights  had  been 
suddenly  turned  out.  He'd  never  have  known  the  stub- 
bornness of  his  hope  that  she  would  reappear,  except 
for  hope's  slow  death.  Undoubtedly  she  who  was  known 
to  him  as  Miss  Lauderdale  had  settled  for  the  night  in 
the  home  of  the  tall,  blond  man  who  had  kissed  her  in 
the  doorway.  He  knew  where  one  member  of  the  Stur- 
gis  family,  at  least,  went  for  peace  and  quiet ! 

A  question  had  been  asked  him;  had  been  repeated 
with  a  slight  crescendo  of  the  modulated  voice  which 
had  played  accompaniment  to  his  tragic  reminiscence; 
recalled  him  to  the  here  and  now.  From  the  matron's 
surprised  look  and  her  wait  for  some  sort  of  response, 
he  realized  that  automatic  answers  didn't  always  sat- 
isfy. What  was  it  she  had  asked? 

"You  have  a  family  tree,  Mr.  Pope — I  mean  Pape? 
Pape  is  such  an  odd  name,  isn't  it?" 

"Sure — that  is  to  say,  certainly,  madam.  A  forest  of 
the  same." 

She  frowned  in  face  of  his  attempt  at  elegant  dic- 
tion and  intent  to  make  her  smile. 

"I  fear  you  don't  quite  grasp  my  meaning.  It  is  the 
Pape  lineage  I  mean.  You  can  trace  it  back,  I  sup- 
pose?" 

Just  here  was  Peter  Pape's  cue  to  spread  out  all  his 
Stansbury  cards  upon  the  table,  but  in  trying  to  match 
this  mother  in  rose-hued  negligee,  he  overplayed  the 
hand. 

"Oh,  we  go  back  to  the  days  long  before  kings  and 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  121 

queens  or  even  jacks,  Mrs.  Sturgis — clear  to  Adam 
and  Eve  and  the  apple  orchard." 

This  time  she  beamed.  "Indeed !  And  you  have  an 
escutcheon  ?" 

Before  he  could  assure  her,  the  daughter  of  the 
house  clattered  in  high-heeled  boots  through  the  door- 
way. 

Irene  wore  white  cloth  breeches  and  a  black  suede 
coat,  no  hat  at  all  and  a  radiant  freshness  that  took  his 
breath.  In  the  stress  of  recent  doings  and  undoings, 
he  had  forgotten  the  spectacular  beauty  of  this  par- 
ticular young  lady  of  to-day.  Crow-haired  was  she, 
bright-cheeked,  brighter-lipped.  The  slight  unevenness 
of  her  dazzling  display  of  teeth  but  added  piquancy  to 
her  smile.  She  was  both  strong-built  and  lithe  of  body. 
And  as  to  her  mind,  never  an  incipient  doubt  of  her 
super-desirability  weakened  that.  Truly,  she  was  a 
vital  and  vitalizing  creature,  Irene. 

It  was  not  unpleasant  to  have  a  beautiful  girl  greet 
him  with  frank  cordiality.  After  recent  roughnesses 
of  his  experience —  Well,  not  since  that  floral- 
wreathed  sign  first  had  blazed  its  reassurance  into  his 
nostalgic  gaze  had  he  been  made  to  feel  so  welcome. 

"Oh,  you  poor  man — you  poor,  dear,  bored-to-death 
man !"  she  offered  with  both  her  hands.  "Has  my  ma- 
ternal mamma  been  talking  you  to  pieces  about  my 
virtues?  I'll  bet  you  have,  at  that,  you  darling  vil- 
lianess !" 

Freeing  one  hand,  she  shook  her  ivory-handled  crop 
at  her  protesting  parent,  then  almost  at  once  re-seized 
Pape's  sunburned  paw. 


122  LONESOME  TOWN 

"It's  your  very  own  fault  I  took  so  long  to  get  ready. 
Do  I  hear  you  asking  why,  Why-Not?  Because  your 
groom  rode  up  on  the  most  satiny  black  that  ever 
stopped  before  our  domicile,  instead  of  the  regular  roan 
I  expected.  I  was  all  togged  out  in  my  new  tan  covert, 
but  of  course  had  to  change  in  order  to  be  becoming  to 
the  black.  •  I'm  never  late!" 

"My  dear!" 

There  was  incredulity  in  Mrs.  Sturgis'  voice. 

"You  mustn't  get  nasty,  dar-rling.  You  know  that 
I'm  almost  never,  except  to  punish  people.  And  of 
course  Mr.  Pape  and  I  haven't  got  far  enough  along, 
for  me  to  need  to  punish  him — not  yet." 

Although  nothing  seemed  to  be  expected  of  him, 
Pape  sought  for  a  seemly  retort.  "Let  us  hope  that  we 
never  get  that  far  along." 

"Let  us  hope  that  we  get  there  soon,"  she  corrected 
him.  "Come,  shan't  we  be  on  our  way?" 

Mrs.  Sturgis  followed  them  to  the  street  door; 
showed  a  becoming  anxiety;  hoped,  even  prayed,  that 
they'd  return  safely. 

"Safely  and  anon — don't  expect  me  sooner  than 
anon." 

Irene  tossed  the  promise  with  a  finger-flung  kiss 
from  the  saddle  into  which  she  had  swung  with  scarcely 
a  foot-touch  upon  the  stirrup  held  for  her.  Pape  in- 
structed the  groom  as  to  his  return  to  stables  on  the 
other  side  of  the  park.  They  were  off  on  the  most 
parade-effect  ride  in  which  he,  for  one,  ever  had  par- 
ticipated. 

The  girl  pulled  in  close  enough  *to  keep  talking  dur- 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  123 

ing  their  necessarily  sedate  pace  down  the  avenue  to- 
ward The  Plaza  entrance  to  the  park. 

"You  were  a  dear  to  keep  calling  up  while  I  was  in 
the  country.  Oh,  don't  look  so  innocent !" 

Her  charge  made  him  hope  he  wasn't  showing  in 
his  face  the  strange  something  that  happened  to  his 
spinal  column  each  time  she  called  him  "dear" — he  felt 
so  sure  that  she  only  was  leading  up  to  that  adorably 
Yankee-ized  "dar-rling"  of  hers. 

"I'm  sorry  if  I — glad  if  I  look  innocent." 

"You  ought  to  be.  Any  modern  man  ought  to  be." 
She  laughed  more  happily  than  he  could  manage  to  do 
at  the  moment.  "And  don't  you  deny  calling  me — 
don't  you  deny  anything!  It  won't  do  a  bit  of  good." 

Believing  that  it  wouldn't — not  with  Irene — he 
didn't. 

"You  see,  Jasper's  butlering  job  depends  upon  his 
accuracy,"  she  continued.  "Well  he  knows  if  he  lost 
me  one  single  message  from  one  single  only  man  I 
ever  loved " 

"We  trust  that  all  your  only-ever  men  are  single?" 
he  persiflaged  into  her  pause. 

"Most.  Never  cared  for  the  back-door  and  porch 
affairs — one  has  to  be  so  discreet.  You  don't  yourself, 
do  you,  Why-Not?" 

In  her  query  Pape  saw  an  opening  for  the  idea  which 
had  wakened  him  up.  Not  that  he  would  have  pried 
into  the  affairs  of  Jane  Lauderdale  through  her  dis- 
creet-and-proud-of-it  young  cousin  any  more  than  he 
had  crossed  the  cobbles  of  that  soiled  East  Side  street 
last  night  to  question  her  fellow-tenants  on  the  fire- 


124  LONESOME  TOWN 

escape.  No.  He  knew  he  couldn't  and  wouldn't  do 
anything  so  deliberately  base  as  that.  But  if  Irene  must 
babble,  it  was  only  fair  that  she  babble  upon  a  subject 
that  interested  the  semi-silent  member  of  the  colloquy. 

o_^ 

"No,  I  don't  like  side-porch  affairs,"  he  admitted, 
"although  I've  got  the  reputation  of  being  discreet." 

"That's  why  you're  so  nice-nice,"  enthused  Irene. 
"The  man's  being  good  gives  the  girl  all  the  better 
chance  to  be  bad.  Oh,  I  hope  I've  shocked  you !  Come 
across,  B.  B. — that's  short  either  for  'Blushing  Bach- 
elor' or  'Brazen  Benedict.'  Haven't  I? 

"You'll  shock  me  worse  if  you  don't  hold  in  until 
that  traffic  cop  blows  his  horn." 

With  the  warning,  Pape  reached  over  and  himself 
curbed  her  black  until  their  crossing  into  the  bridle  path 
was  whistle-advised. 

Probably  she  considered  that  the  time  had  come  to 
start  "punishing"  him,  for,  once  in  the  park,  she  literally 
ran  away  from  him  along  the  East  Path  which  so  far 
he  had  traveled  alone.  But  Polkadot,  asserting  his  in- 
dignation in  none  too  subtle  snorts,  soon  overhauled  the 
rented  horse,  then  showed  his  equine  etiquette  by  set- 
tling to  a  companionable  walk.  His  man,  too,  after  one 
look  into  the  flushed,  exultant,  impish  face  beneath  the 
cloud  of  wind-tossed  curls,  forgave. 

"The  trouble  with  you,  W.  W.,  is  simply  this,"  he 
propounded,  referring  to  her  late  allegation  in  superior 


vein. 

« < 


W.  W.'?    Explanation!"  she  demanded. 
Atempting  a  look  of  polite  surprise,  he  obliged.    "In- 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  125 

elusive  for  'Wicked  Wife'  and  'Wiley  Wirgin.'  I 
am  here  to  say  that,  as  your  sex  is  run  nowadays,  it  is 
hard  to  tell  which  are  which.  In  this  woman's  town 
none  of  'em  seem  to  want  to  wear  the  marriage  brand. 
Many  a  Mrs.  calls  herself  Miss.  You  keep  too  close  to 
your  mother,  likely,  to  be  yoked  without  her  knowing  it. 
But  how  could  an  outsider  know,  for  instance,  whether 
or  not  your  cousin,  Miss  Lauderdale " 

"Jane  married  ?  What  an  idea !"  As  expected,  Irene 
interrupted  on  getting  the  general  drift  of  his  remarks. 
"Not  but  what  she's  plenty  old  enough.  She's  twenty- 
six — think  of  it!  Maybe  I  oughtn't  to  tell  her  age. 
Still,  any  one  can  see  it  on  her  face,  don't  you  think  so 
— or  do  you  ?  And  it  isn't  as  though  you  were  interested 
in  her  instead  of  me.  Jane  is  considered  still  very  at- 
tractive, though.  A  good  many  men  have  admired  her 
even  since  my  day  and  degeneration.  Do  you  know,  I 
never  can  resist  adding  that  'degeneration'  to  'my  day' ! 
It's  trite,  I  know,  but  it's  true — too-trite-true.  Jane  has 
a  whole  raft  of  women  friends.  She's  always  off 
visiting  them.  She  is  down  at  Hempstead  Plains  now 
with  one  of  them." 

Pape  rose  in  his  stirrups,  as  it  turned  out,  merely  to 
hold  back  a  low-hung  bough  which  had  threatened  to 
brush  the  girl's  artfully  tousled  locks. 

"Fortunately,"  she  babbled  on,  "Mills  Harford  still 
wants  to  marry  her.  Mother  and  I  both  think  she 
ought  to  snap  him  up.  Don't  you  ?  Harf y  has  money 
and  he  isn't  bad  looking,  although  I  myself  shouldn't 
consider  him  as  a  suitor.  I  guess  he  knows  that."  She 
transferred  her  glance  from  him  to  the  path  ahead. 


126  LONESOME  TOWN 

"Here's  the  longest  straight-away  in  Central  Park," 
she  cried.  "I  don't  want  to  leave  you  again — better 
come  along!" 

Bombed  again !  Pape  pressed  one  hand  against  his 
brow  as  he  shook  Dot's  rein,  a  signal  to  follow  the  spurt 
to  which  Irene  had  put  the  academy  mare.  He  wasn't 
given  to  headaches  from  any  pace  of  his  horse,  but  a 
sudden  hurting  sensation  had  shot  through  his  brain. 

Jane  Lauderdale  wasn't,  then,  married  so  far  as  her 
relatives  knew.  And  she  was  covering  her  whereabouts 
from  them  as  she  had  tried  to  cover  from  him.  By  no 
tax  of  the  imagination  could  he  think  of  the  peeling  old 
brick  house  on  East  Sixty-third  Street  as  the  "place" 
of  any  of  those  elite  "women  friends"  mentioned ;  yet 
even  could  he  do  so,  why  one  with  a  husband  or  other 
male  attache  who  would  wait  and  kiss  their  fair  guest 
at  the  door  ? 

Incidentally,  Polkadot  won  the  brush  over  this  tan- 
gent, coming  up  from  the  rear  at  an  "Fll-show-you" 
pace.  Willingly  enough  he  waited  for  the  black  mare 
where  the  bridle  path  again  became  winding. 

Irene,  on  catching  up,  looked  him  over  with  irritation 
that  proved  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  comparative 
speed  of  their  mounts,  as  just  counted  against  her. 

"I  don't  believe  you  were  listening  to  me  at  all  back 
there,"  she  charged.  "I  dote  on  deep,  dark  natures,  but 
this  doesn't  seem  to  me  the  time  or  place  to  get  mysteri- 
ous. Come  out  of  it  and  pay  me  'tentions !" 

He  undertook  to  obey.  "I'd  be  tickled  pink  to  pay 
you  anything  that " 

"You're  a  deeper  and  darker  color  than  pink  al- 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  127 

ready,"  she  interrupted,  "but  you  don't  look  tickled  at 
all  Here,  see  for  yourself !" 

From  her  breast-pocket  she  produced  a  flat  vanity 
case  covered  with  the  black  suede  of  her  coat;  flipped 
open  a  small  mirror;  held  it  above  the  horn  of  his 
saddle  where  he  could  look  into  it.  His  countenance 
was,  indeed,  nearer  beet-red  than  pink.  After  a  wicked 
moue  over  his  discomfiture,  she  took  out  a  "stick"  and 
proceeded  openly,  calmly,  critically,  to  rouge  her  youth- 
ripe  lips. 

"I'll  pay  you,"  she  proposed  with  a  smile,  "anything 
that  you  consider  fair  for  the  thoughts  that  brought 
that  blush." 

"I  was  just  wondering  if — thinking  that "  he 

floundered.  "What  a  similarity  of  coloring  there  is 
among  you,  your  mother  and  your — your  cousin,  you 
know,  and  yet  how  different  you  are." 

"You're  cheating,  Why-Not.  You  know  you  weren't 
thinking  anything  so  banal.  Do  you  expect  me  to  pay 
for  that?" 

She  pulled  her  trim  little  black  closer  to  his  rangy  pie- 
bald and  leaned  over  toward  him.  And  he  bent  toward 
her;  somehow,  couldn't  help  it.  A  moment  her  eyes 
glittered  close  under  his.  Her  blown  black  hair  strove 
toward  his  lips.  A  pout  that  would  have  tempted  the 
palest-corpuscled  of  men  curved  the  lips  so  carefully 
prepared — for  what  ? 

Peter  Pape's  corpuscles,  as  happened,  weren't  pale. 
Then,  too,  he  lately  had  been  bombed  out  of  some  few 
traditions  and  restraints.  He  caught  his  breath ;  caught 
the  idea ;  caught  her  arm. 


128  LONESOME  TOWN 

"Child,  do  you  know  that —    Do  you  understand — " 

"You  are  nice-nice!" 

With  complete  understanding,  she  awaited  his  pleas- 
ure and,  possibly,  her  own. 

Irene  had  shown  selectiveness  in  the  set  for  the  scene. 
The  path  at  that  point  was  low-leaved  and  lone.  Noth- 
ing broke  the  silence  except  the  siren-chorus  of  invisible 
cars.  Nothing  marred  the  woodsy  fragrances  except 
the  reek  of  gasoline.  Nothing  held  Pape  back  except 
the  realization  that,  once  he  had  kissed  this  almost  irre- 
sistible young  lady  of  to-day 

At  that,  only  Polkadot  saved  the  situation.  Whether 
intolerant  of  his  propinquity  with  a  mere  hireling, 
whether  sensing  the  predicament  of  a  man-master  who 
never  had  brushed  stirrups  with  a  woman  unless  on 
some  picnic  ride  with  a  crowd  along,  or  whether  too 
fed-up  on  stable  fodder  to  endure  such  inactivity  one 
second  longer,  at  any  rate,  the  painted  pony  forewent 
all  equine  etiquette ;  bolted. 

Not  until  they  had  made  a  flying  turn  at  Harlem 
Mere  and  started  cross-park  toward  the  West  Path  did 
Pape's  strong  hand  at  the  rein  dictate  that  they  let  the 
trailing  black  catch  up.  When  again  the  two  horses,  as 
nicely  matched  for  contrast  as  were  their  riders,  paced 
side  by  side  in  form 

"You  all  right,  dar-rling?"  panted  Irene,  from  ex- 
citement and  exercise  beautiful  as  the  favorite  "still" 
of  a  picture  queen. 

"Right  as — as  you  nearly  had  me  wrong." 

At  his  serious  look,  she  laughed  up  at  him  shame- 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  129 

lessly.  "You  missed  your  chance  that  time.  And  a 
miss  to  me  is  as  good  as  many  miles." 

"Don't  you  mean,"  he  asked,  "that  a  Miss  is  as  bad 
as  a  Mrs.  ?" 

The  rest  of  the  ride  he  insisted  on  playing  the  heavy 
respectful.  He  wasn't  to  be  baby-vamped  into  making 
love  to  any  girl ;  to  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  fly- 
ingly  but  firmly.  Tempting,  indeed,  was  she.  But 
until  he  should  commit  himself  to  temptation,  she 
should  not  over-tempt  him.  Even  in  this,  their  "day 
and  degeneration,"  he  claimed  the  deciding  vote  of  the 
male.  Why  not? 

After  that  he  chose  the  topics  of  conversation,  favor- 
ing one  introduced  that  day  by  the  girl's  own  mother — 
genealogy.  Irene's  answers  were  considerably  less 
animated  than  his  questions. 

Yes,  "family"  was  the  hobby-pace  of  her  only 
mamma.  She,  herself,  didn't  care  a  Russian  kopeck 
from  what  a  man  came,  so  that  he  was  present  when 
she  wanted  him.  Still,  if  Pape  aspired  to  get  along 
with  parent-Helene,  he'd  have  to  trump  her  genealogical 
lead.  Could  he  and  would  he  produce  a  family  escut- 
cheon ? 

If  there  was  one  to  be  had  in  town !  So  he  promised 
with  hand-on-heart.  He  had  been  born  and  bred  and 
all  that,  he  declared.  And  he  had  reasons  for  wishing 
to  be  properly  installed  as  a  friend  of  the  Sturgis  family. 
Would  an  escutcheon  really  need  to  be  laid  within 
range  of  the  maternal  lorgnette?  If  so,  just  what  was 
an  escutcheon  most  like  ? 

Ha,  he  began  to  see !    It  was,  then,  an  authenticated 


130  LONESOME  TOWN 

something  which  one  emblazoned  on  what  he  owned 
to  show  that  he  owned  it,  like  the  interrogation  point 
which  he  branded  on  his  cattle  back  home?  He  ex- 
plained the  significance  of  the  name  of  the  distant 
Queer  Question  Ranch  back  in  Hellroaring  Valley,  a 
name  derived  from  his  own  whys  and  why-nots.  He'd 
see  what  he  could  do  toward  authenticating  a  creditable 
escutcheon  and  exhibiting  the  same  to  mamma. 

They  had  curved  around  North  Meadow,  had  skirted 
the  silver  circle  of  the  receiving  reservoir  and  were  ap- 
proaching The  Green,  before  Pape's  absorption  in  this 
self-selected  topic  was  broken.  He  had  cast  a  surrep- 
titious glance  toward  a  clump  of  poplars  that  disputed 
possession  of  a  hillock  with  an  outcrop  of  granite. 
Beneath  them  he  had  seen  what  caused  his  heart  to  take 
one  quick  flop,  then  stand  still. 

What  next  occurred  was  better  understood  by  Friend 
Polkadot  than  Friend  Girl.  The  horse  received  a  knee- 
pressed  signal,  the  meaning  of  which  was  clear,  if  not 
the  particular  reason  therefor.  Just  why  Why-Not 
should  wish  to  rid  himself  of  a  riding-mate  he  had 
seemed  to  find  so  delightful 

However,  Dot  was  enough  of  a  soldier  never  to 
argue  actual  orders.  He  promptly  went  lame.  And 
he  rather  enjoyed  doing  so.  The  trick  had  been  dear 
to  him  ever  since  the  petting  lavished  upon  him  during 
his  recovery  from  a  real  injury  years  ago.  He  slowed 
to  a  stop;  up-held  his  fore-hoof;  himself  demanded 
"  'tertians." 

"What's  matter,  old  hoss?" 

Perfect  in  his  part  of  this  play  to  retire  from  trail 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  131 

company  no  longer  congenial,  the  Westerner  flung  him- 
self off-saddle,  accepted  and  examined  the  pitiful  "paw." 
Even  when  the  supposed  victim  winked  and  drew  back 
his  upper  lip  in  a  wide  horse  grin,  there  showed  no 
change  in  the  poker  face  of  the  Montana  man. 

"Is  it  a  sprain?  Does  it  hurt  so  much  as  all  that?" 
Although  Irene  would  doubtless — and  justly — have 
been  furious  to  know  it,  her  concern  was  the  one  real 
factor  in  the  incident. 

"He  may  have  slipped  on  that  bolt  of  his  back  yon- 
der." Pape  wasn't  used  even  to  suggesting  lies  and  his 
voice  sounded  as  unconvincing  to  himself  as  though 
pitched  from  the  vicinity  of  Washington  Square. 
"Serve  him  right  if  he  did.  At  that,  I'm  afraid  our 

ride's  ended  for  to-day.  Fortunately "  He  paused 

in  a  search  of  the  surroundings,  presumedly  to  get 
their  exact  bearings:  in  fact,  to  convince  himself  that 
he  had  seen  what  he  had  seen.  "Fortunately  the  stable 
I'm  using  lies  just  over  there  on  Central  Park  West." 

"And  I  was  just  about  to  propose  that  we  make  the 
reverse  round."  Irene  pouted  like  the  spoiled  child 
she  was.  "I'd  set  my  heart  on  a  real  sprint  between 
my  mare  and  your  cocksure  charger.  It  would  have 
been  so  sort  of  symbolic  of  life  to-day,  you  know — a 
race  of  male  versus  female." 

Her  heart  for  horses,  however,  soon  softened  in  pity 
for  Polkadot.  Pape  liked  her  cordially  as  he  hated 
himself  for  the  endearments  and  consolations  she  show- 
ered upon  that  supposed  unfortunate. 

"Don't  you  worry  one  little  bit,  Polkadot  dar-rling," 
she  urged,  leaning  to  one  of  the  pinto's  forward-flicking 


I32  LONESOME  TOWN 

ears.  "If  it  isn't  all  right  by  to-morrow-day,  Irene  will 
come  around  herself  and  rub  it  well  for  you." 

When  Dot,  having  received  no  "cure"  signal,  limped 
more  noticeably  than  before  as  they  neared  his  stable- 
hostelry,  she  added  in  her  sweet-lisped  baby  talk : 

"Just  a  few  steps  more,  booful  boy.  Don't  'oo  care. 
You'll  be  all  well  to-morrow-day." 

Considering  the  tenderness  of  her  mood  toward  the 
four-footed  fakir,  her  change  was  sudden  and  radical 
toward  the  biped  of  the  pair  when  she  grasped  that  he 
intended  to  send  her  home  in  a  taxi. 

"You're  not  going  to  take  me?"  she  demanded 
through  the  down-dropped  sash  of  the  door  he  had 
closed. 

"If  you'll  excuse  me,  no,  Miss  Sturgis.  I  am  very 
sorry  to  miss  the  pleasure  and  sorrier  if  I  seem  dis- 
courteous. But  I — I  owe  a  duty  to  a  friend." 

She  looked  with  a  hard  glance  straight  into  his  eyes, 
her  lips  thinning.  "Then  you  think  more  of  your 
horse  than  you  do  of  me?" 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that,"  he  temporized. 

She  pressed  the  point.  "You  may  think  I  lack 
reserve,  Mr.  Pape.  Sometimes  I  myself  feel  that  I  am 
too  impulsive  and  too — too  honest." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  say  that,"  he  repeated.  It  was  the 
best  he  could  offer  and  he  was  in  doubt  about  that. 

"No,  I  suppose  you  wouldn't,"  she  snapped.  "But 
why  don't  you  assume  a  virtue  if  you  have  it  not — 
why  not  be  a  little  bit  honest  yourself?  Why  not  an- 
swer the  truth?  Heaven  knows  I  might  better  learn 


WHAT  A  WELCOME!  133 

it  now  than  later.  Tell  me,  Why-Not,  is  it  only  Polka- 
dot  for  whom  you  are  deserting  me?" 

Pape  tried  unobtrusively  to  give  the  chauffeur  the 
start  signal;  shifted  his  weight;  cleared  his  throat. 

"Well,  it  isn't  exactly — not  entirely  on  account  of  the 
horse,  although  a  man's  cayuse  is  his  cayuse  and  that's 
that.  No,  miss.  You  see,  we  were  kind  of  late  start- 
ing, owing  to  your  change  of — of  habits.  And  I  have 
a  friend  that  I'm  sort  of  committed  to  help  because  she 

But  his  impromptu  defense  merged  into  her  high- 
pitched  scorn  which,  in  its  turn,  merged  into  tears  be- 
fore she  was  through. 

"I  knew  it.  I  divined  it.  And  me  meriting  a  man's 
wholelsoul !  Kindly  tell  the  driver  to  start  at  once.  As 
for  you,  Peter  Stansbury  Pape,  I  think  you're  con- 
temptible!" 

Grooms  were  caring  for  the  horses  on  Pape's  return 
to  the  stable.  The  "cripple"  he  miraculously  cured  by  a 
word  and  a  touch.  In  his  dressing  room,  he  hurried 
into  street  clothes. 

Out  in  the  park,  beneath  that  clump  of  poplars 

Talking  was  all  very  well  in  its  way.  But  at  last 
he  had  sighted  something  to  do! 


CHAPTER   XIII 

IN  HER  SERVICE 

PERHAPS  never  had  Peter  Pape  felt  in  more  of  a 
rush  to  reach  any  given  spot.  Yet,  once  there, 
he  seemed  in  a  greater  rush  to  get  away.  Scarcely  did 
he  pause  in  his  brisk  walk  along  the  pavement  outside 
the  park  wall  to  study  the  details  of  the  scene  beneath 
the  poplars  which  so  had  interested  him — three  laborers 
dressed  in  jeans,  each  equipped  with  pick  or  shovel, 
digging  in  the  shade  under  direction  of  a  dapper- 
dressed,  slight-built  stranger.  But  in  the  sprinkling  of 
curious  bystanders,  men  and  women  who  decorated 
the  wall  like  rail-birds,  there  was  no  sight  of  her  whom 
he  rather  had  expected  to  find  among  those  present. 

The  total  absence  of  Jane  Lauderdale,  either  in  the 
bonnet  and  black  of  East  Sixty-third  Street  or  in  the 
modish  morning  frock  which  might  have  attired  her 
dual  self,  decided  his  next  move.  By  passage  of  several 
minutes,  a  picked-up  taxi  and  a  dollar  bill,  he  was 
mounting  the  front  steps  of  the  old,  scaly  far-East 
mansion.  The  front  door  standing  open,  he  seemed 
tacitly  invited  to  enter  without  formality  of  a  ring. 
Upon  undertaking  the  flight  of  stairs  within  he  con- 
gratulated himself  that  he  was  not  superstitious.  Every 
step  of  the  weathered  wood  squeaked,  scrooped  or 

134 


IN  HER  SERVICE  135 

screeched  as  if  in  ill-omen.  Never  had  he  climbed  so 
foreboding  a  stair-case,  albeit  never  so  determinedly. 

Just  why  he  had  come  did  not  matter.  There  was 
plenty  of  time,  as  he  told  himself,  to  argue  that  out 
afterward.  Impulse  had  mastered  him,  the  same  sort 
of  impulse  that  would  have  started  him  burning  the 
trail  back  home  to  warn  a  pal  whose  mining  claim  had 
been  jumped  or  whose  cattle  were  being  rustled  toward 
the  Canadian  line.  Action ful  resentment  had  moved 
him,  as  during  the  previous  winter  when  he  had  dis- 
covered poachers  attacking  the  Yellowstone  buffalo 
herd  and  had  skied  forty  miles  in  blizzard  weather  to 
warn  the  Spread-Eagle  Rangers.  So  far  as  he  cared 
to  figure  in  the  emergency,  a  bent-back,  ill-clad  old  lady 
— no  matter  who  else  or  what  else  or  whyfore  else  she 
might  be — had  preempted  that  poplar  patch  and  owned 
therefore  the  exclusive  digging  rights  thereto.  In  the 
event  that  she  herself  had  not  instigated  the  present 
activity,  he  was  here  to  warn  her. 

Whom  he  should  meet  at  the  top  of  his  climb  was 
problematic.  If  it  was  the  blond-mopped  man — 
Well,  they  both  might  be  taking  chances. 

A  moment  did  he  pause  before  the  door  of  the  fourth 
floor  front.  Suppose  a  maid  attended  his  knock,  for 
whom  should  he  ask?  "Miss  Lauderdale"  might  not  be 
known  in  the  house — mention  of  the  name  might  betray 
an  incognito.  Reminding  himself,  however,  that  a 
servant  was  the  difficulty  least  likely  to  be  encountered 
in  that  tenement,  he  knuckled  up  his  hand  and  knocked. 

His  first  rap  did  not  bring  response;  had  to  be  re- 
peated more  peremptorily.  He  could  hear  low  voices 


136  LONESOME  TOWN 

within.  Then  there  was  silence.  Perhaps  the  occu- 
pants of  flats  did  not  answer  unexpected  knocks.  His 
hand  was  fisted  for  a  third  when  the  knob  turned  and 
the  door  opened  a  crack. 

No  face  appeared;  nothing  but  a  voice — a  woman's, 
hard  and  impatient. 

"Yes.    What  is  it?    Who  do  you  want ?" 

Pape  was  returned  to  the  quandary  of  the  maid  pos- 
sibility. Before  he  could  decide  what  to  answer  the  suc- 
tion of  wind  from  the  hall  drew  around  the  edge  of 
the  door  a  fluttery  bit  of  black  skirt. 

"I  want  you,  Jane,"  he  hazarded. 

Curiosity,  surprise  or  exasperation  ruled  her — per- 
haps a  combination  of  the  three.  Her  young-white  face 
in  its  old-black  bonnet  followed  the  skirt  around  the 
door  edge,  high  as  his  own  and  so  close  that  her  breath, 
warm  and  sweet  as  a  summer  zephyr  off  a  clover  field, 
blew  upon  his  cheek. 

"You?"  she  gasped,  as  before,  out  under  the  trees. 

"Again,"  he  finished  for  her  with  the  briefest  of 
bows. 

She  narrowed  the  crack  and  moved  across  it,  evi- 
dently to  protect  the  room  from  his  inspection.  Not 
exactly  a  "welcome  to  our  happy  home"  was  her  next 
offering,  although  in  her  natural  tones. 

"So  you  followed  me  home  last  night,  after  all! 
How  dared  you?  What  is  the  meaning  of  your 
espionage  ?" 

His  courage  was  lit  by  the  blaze  of  her  look. 

"There's  a  particular  meaning  to  it  that  I  hope 
you  won't  find  so  unwelcome.  Fve  whizzed  hereward 


IN  HER  SERVICE  137 

to  inform  you  that  a  gang  of  grave-diggers  are  exer- 
cising their  muscles  'neath  the  shade  of  the  sheltering 
poplars  where  you  and  Kicko  were  planting  bones  last 
evening." 

He  felt  gratified  at  the  importance  of  his  news,  as 
shown  by  its  effect  on  her.  Her  lips  paled  as  they 
parted.  The  pansy-black  irises  widened  within  the 
blue  of  her  eyes  in  her  concentrated  stare.  Lines  length- 
ened her  face  more  suitably  to  the  poke  of  the  bonnet 
that  framed  it. 

"Who — who?"  she  demanded,  her  voice  scarcely 
more  than  a  rasp. 

"That  I  didn't  linger  to  learn.  I  saw  them  as  I  was 
polkaing  past  upon  my  trusty  steed  just  now.  Thought 
you  mightn't  know." 

She  turned  her  head  and  spoke  as  if  to  some  one 
within  the  room. 

"Oh,  what  shall  we  do?  If  they've  solved  the  crypto- 
gram— if  they  find " 

She  checked  other  disclosures ;  again  faced  the  volun- 
teer messenger,  now  frowning. 

When  no  suggestion  as  to  what  they  could  do  came 
from  the  person  who  would  seem  to  be  the  other  half  of 
her  "we,"  Pape  made  cheerful  offering :  "The  taxi-hack 
that  conveyed  me  cross-town  is  ticking  time  down  in  the 
street.  It  is  at  your  service,  miss  or  madam,  with  or 
without  yours  truly." 

She  gave  him  a  startled  glance,  whether  for  his 
mode  of  address  or  his  offer,  he  could  not  be  sure; 
then  spent  a  moment  in  urgent  thought. 


138  LONESOME  TOWN 

"Would  you  wait  for  me  a  few  minutes?"  She  all  at 
once  announced  her  decision. 

Without  need  of  his  answer,  without  a  verbal 
thank-you  or  suggestion  of  apology,  she  closed  the 
door  in  his  face  and,  by  way  of  insult  to  injury,  turned 
the  key  inside. 

Seeing  nothing  better  to  do,  Pape  leisurely  descended 
the  stairs.  The  steps  protested  stridently  as  before, 
but  more  intelligibly  now. 

"She  doesn't  look  it,"  shrieked  the  top  one.  And: 
"She  doesn't — doesn't — doesn't!"  repeated  the  several 
next.  "But  she  wouldn't  let  you  in — in — in,"  the 
hard-tried  middle  ones.  There's  something  queer  about 
it  all — something  queer — something  queer,"  creaked 
the  ground-floor  last. 

Within  the  stipulated  "few"  minutes  Jane  joined  him 
out  on  the  Colonial  portico  of  long-ago  grandeur.  Her 
complete  change  of  costume — the  dingy  black  doffed 
for  a  small,  smart  sailor  hat  and  a  gray  tweed  that  did 
credit  to  her  tailor  as  well  as  herself — proclaimed  her 
something  of  an  artist  at  the  alias  act.  Also  did  it 
quash  any  hope  which  may  have  been  left  in  him  that 
the  East  Side  flat-house  was  a  place  of  temporary  so- 
journ. Evidently  she  kept  a  wardrobe  there.  The  man 
who  had  greeted  her  so  tenderly  last  night  called  the 
shack  "home."  Jane  was  always  going  off  on  these 
visits  to  her  many  woman  friends — so  Irene  had  said. 

Such  deductions  halved  his  attention  during  the  re- 
flexes of  handing  her  into  the  taxi  and  instructing  the 
driver  regarding  the  return  trip.  There  pended  a  some- 
what important  question.  Of  this  he  reminded  her  by 


IN  HER  SERVICE  139 

a  level  glance,  his  foot  ready  to  leave  the  running-board 
and  his  hand  ready  to  shut  the  door  from  the  outside. 

"I  am  not  such  an  ingrate  as  to  make  you  walk," 
she  answered. 

During  the  cross-town  ride  there  was  but  one  ex- 
change between  them. 

"Jane" — Pape  turned  to  her  daringly,  the  humor 
twitches  about  his  mouth  defying  any  serious  attempt 
which  she  might  make  to  put  him  in  his  place — "I  have 
to  call  you  Jane,  you  see,  because  it  is  the  only  part 
of  your  name  of  which  I  feel  sure." 

As  before,  at  a  similar  suggestion,  she  gave  him  a 
look  of  startled  resentment.  Then,  with  a  faint  but 
very  sweet  smile 

"Peter,"  she  bade  him,  "pray  proceed." 

He  did.  "Should  you  mind  telling  me,  Jane, 
whether  what  you  are  digging  for  in  the  park  has  any 
connection  with  the  theft  of  that  something  you  valued 
the  other  night?" 

"I  guess — I  don't  mind,"  said  she,  thoughtfully.  "It 
has  connection." 

"Is  it Of  course  refuse  to  answer  if  you  wish, 

with  the  assurance  that  there  can  be  no  hard  feelings 
between  us.  Is  it,  just  possibly,  buried  treasure?" 

"Just  possibly  it  is." 

"Central  Park,  if  piled  up  with  hay,  would  be  a  right 
sizeable  stack.  By  comparison,  any  treasure  which 
might  have  been  contained  within  that  snuff-box  would 
be  needle-sized." 

The  girl  looked  intolerant,  as  if  at  stupidity  on  his 
part. 


140  LONESOME  TOWN 

"The  treasure  which  I  hope  to  unbury  before  those 
grave-diggers  you  saw  can  unearth  it  for  some  one  not 
entitled  to  it  is  larger  than  all  the  park." 

Even  at  this,  Pape  didn't  doubt  her  entire  sanity. 
She  had  mentioned  a  cryptogram;  merely  was  being  a 
bit  cryptic  herself. 

"I  see,"  he  assured  her. 

"I  hope  you  don't,"  she  assured  him. 

"That,"  he  finished,  "you  don't  trust  me." 

"Trust  you?    Why  should  I  trust  you?" 

A  moment  her  blue  eyes  blazed  into  his.  He  was 
feeling  quite  scorched  by  her  scorn.  Probably  he  looked 
wilted.  At  any  rate,  her  next  move  amazed  as  much  as 
it  refreshed  him. 

One  of  her  ungloved,  ringless  hands  slipped  into  his 
that  lay  idle  on  the  leather  of  the  seat ;  the  fingers  curled 
around  it. 

"I'd  like  to  trust  you.  I  don't  mind  admitting  that." 
She  turned  so  directly  toward  him  that  again  he  felt  her 
clover-field  breath  across  his  cheek.  "But  you'll  have 
to  excuse  me  for  the  present.  I  just  don't  dare." 

He  held  her  hand  hard,  pulsant  palm  to  pulsant  palm. 
But  lie  took  his  eyes  off  the  temptation  of  her  face ;  a 
second  or  so  stared  straight  ahead,  trying  to  resist — 
trying  to  answer  for  himself  the  question  of  her. 

Who  and  what  was  she — this  woman  of  his  first,  de- 
liberate self -selection? 

"Trust — is  a  thing — some  people  have  to — be 
taught,"  he  said,  steadily  as  he  could.  "You  will  trust 
me — in  time.  There  is  only  one — quick  way — to 
learn." 

Having  gone  that  far,  he  gave  up;  realized  that  he 


IN  HER  SERVICE  141 

couldn't  resist.  His  eyes  swept  back  to  the  temptation 
of  her  face.  His  two  arms  swept  around  the  temptation 
of  her  form.  His  face  swept  down  until  he  yielded,  in 
a  serious  kiss,  to  the  temptation  of  her  lips. 

"Learn,  Jane.  Learn,"  he  insisted  into  the  panic  of 
emotion  he  felt  her  to  be  in.  "Your  distrust  has  made 
it  hard  for  me  to  trust  you.  But  I  find  I  do.  I  trust 
you  with  my  soul.  Don't  say  the  angry  things  you 
might.  Wait.  Learn." 

At  her  first  effort  to  be  free,  he  released  her ;  leaned 
to  his  window;  knew  without  turning  that  she  was 
leaning  to  hers.  After  they  had  swung  into  the  wide 
avenue  that  bounds  the  park  on  the  west,  he  spoke 
quietly. 

"I'd  suggest  that  we  land  here.  By  looking  over  the 
wall  you  can  see  without  being  seen." 

Without  turning,  she  nodded.  Pape  dismissed  the 
cab  and  guided  his  silent  companion  north  a  block.  He 
pointed  out  the  group  of  poplars  to  her  by  their  tops, 
claiming  what  he  called  "the  wild,  or  wilderness  eye 
for  location."  When  they  reached  what  he  considered 
a  vantage  point,  however,  she  drew  back,  reluctant  to 
look. 

"If  they've  solved  it — if  they've  found  it,  I'm  lost — 
lost,"  she  said.  "Another  hour  last  night  and  I'd  have 
known.  If  you  hadn't  come  along " 

"Aint  I  trying  to  make  up  for  that?"  he  asked  her. 

Without  meeting  his  demanding  eyes,  she  set  her 
lips;  stepped  close  to  the  V-topped  wall;  peered  over. 
For  a  space  both  studied  the  scene  of  activity. 

"Won't  take  them  long,"  she  commented.  "They're 
just  common  laborers — Polakers,  no  doubt.  The  short, 


142  LONESOME  TOWN 

dressed-up  man  must  be  the  boss.  Wonder  whether 
I've  seen  him  before.  Wait,  he's  turning !  His  face  is 
strange  to  me.  One  of  their  hirelings,  of  course." 

The  silencer  which  Pape  put  upon  certain  questions 
exploding  in  his  mind — pertinent  questions  such  as 
what  was  the  nature  of  "it,"  who  were  "they,"  why 
should  another  hour  last  night  have  made  all  "known"  ? 
— was  the  result  of  a  new-made  decision  on  his  own 
account.  He  would  teach  this  determinedly  untrusting 
young  person  by  demonstration;  would  aspire  only  to 
such  confidence  as  she  saw  fit  to  volunteer.  The  hope 
that  telepathy  already  was  at  work  strengthened  him  to 
meet  manfully  her  calm,  cold  gaze  when  at  last  she 
faced  him. 

"You  say  you  want  to  make  up  for "  She  caught 

her  breath  and  started  afresh.  "I  am  willing  to— to 
learn — if  I  can.  But  some  women  might  consider  that 
you  owed  quite  a  bit." 

"I  am — "  and  he  bent  his  head,  the  better  to  see  her 
lips — "very  deeply  in  your  debt." 

In  spite  of  her  flush,  she  continued  crisply.  "Very 
well,  I  am  going  to  ask  you  for  part  payment." 

"And  I  am  only  too  willing,  Jane,  to  pay  in  full." 

She  studied  his  serio-flippancy ;  evidently  decided  to 
value  his  statement  above  his  smile. 

"I  need  about  one  hour  of  dusk  to  finish  in  there. 
I  could  finish  to-night  if  that  gang  could  be  driven 
off  now,  before  they  find — what  I  hope  to  find  first. 
Can't  you — won't  you  try  to  frighten  them  off?" 

"I?    What  right  have  I " 

One  of  two  things  was  certain.  Either  she  thought 
very  little  of  the  courage  of  the  four  or  very  much  of 


IN  HER  SERVICE  143 

his  frightsomeness.  He  did  feel  indebted  to  her, 
though;  appreciated  the  born-and-bred  conventionality 
which  she  had  overcome  at  his  request.  When  he  com- 
pared the  scathing,  stereotyped  things  she  might  have 
said  with  the  fact  that  she  had  said  nothing  at  all — well, 
despite  the  confusions  since  that  Zaza  night,  including 
the  man  over  on  East  Sixty-third  Street,  she  was — 
she  must  be  the  sort  she  at  first  had  seemed.  He 
shrugged  off  his  own  dubiousness  and  looked  as  hopeful 
as  he  could. 

"Once  you  pretended  to  be  a  detective,"  she  encour- 
aged him. 

"Got  a  supper  out  of  that." 

"Last  night  you  were  again  taken  for  one." 

"And  had  a  scrap  that  was  lively  while  it  lasted." 

"This  much  you  may  assume.  Something  important 
— something  more  valuable,  really,  than  any  treasure 
that  could  be  buried  in  the  whole  length  of  Manhattan 
Isle — something  more  than  you  possibly  could  imagine 
is  at  stake.  It  doesn't  matter  what  or  why  or  how, 
but  try  to  do  what  I  ask.  Get  those  hired  looters  out !" 

"Get  them  out?"  he  objected,  "Girl-alive,  they  have 
a  right  to  be  digging  in  there  or  they  wouldn't  dare  to 
come  in  force  and  in  daylight.  I'd  need  some  authority 
to  object  before  I  could —  Will  you  stay  right 
here?" 

Instead  of  vaulting  the  park  wall,  which  at  first  had[ 
seemed  to  be  the  one  possible  response  to  her  demand, 
Pape  lifted  his  hat  and  sauntered  down  the  avenue  as 
though  bound  nowhere  in  particular. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   CREDIT    PLAN 

THE  Sheepfold  in  Central  Park  is  a  U-shaped 
structure  of  red  brick  walls  and  a  low  roof  that  is 
mostly  gables.  One  of  the  wings  is  winter  quarters 
for  the  Dorset  flock.  The  connecting  curve,  the  lower 
half  of  which  is  an  archway,  houses  in  the  upper  Shep- 
herd Tom  and  his  family.  The  remaining  wing,  al- 
though built  for  a  different  purpose,  is  now  used  as  a 
garage  for  the  motor  cycle  police.  Within  is  parking 
space  for  all  the  machines  in  regular  use  in  the  park  and 
some  extras. 

Into  this  garage  strode  Why-Not  Pape,  a  man  in  a 
hurry.  His  only  introduction  to  the  policeman  in 
charge  was  rather  extravagant,  if  wordless — one  made 
in  brute  Belgian.  He  returned  Kicko's  greeting — the 
fact  that  he  and  the  police  dog  were  friends  did  the 
rest.  It  was  amazing  how  easily  his  coup  was  carried 
out  as  planned,  backed  by  the  dog's  infallible  memory. 

"Which  are  the  spare  fire-crackers?"  he  asked  the 
uniformed  garage  keeper  with  bluff  authority.  "I'm  in 
a  gasoline  hurry  to  get  up  the  line." 

His  wait  had  more  intensity  than  length.  He  counted 
upon  a  long-standing  claim  among  safe-workers,  of 
which  he  had  been  assured  by  that  piece  of  human  flot- 
sam out  at  Hellroaring,  that  the  "big  box"  in  the  New 

144 


THE  CREDIT  PLAN  145 

York  Police  Headquarters  would  be  the  easiest 
"cracked"  in  the  city  were  there  anything  in  it  worth 
stealing.  He  knew  it  to  be  a  fact  that  many  never- 
solved  robberies  and  murders  have  been  "pulled"  within 
the  shadow  of  precinct  stations;  had  seen  substantiated 
in  the  day-by-day  news  the  theory  that  the  best  "hide- 
out" is  under  the  arresting  arm  of  city  government. 
And  his  act  upon  deduction  meant  nothing  against  the 
police.  He  simply  wished  to  profit  for  once  by  his 
knowledge  of  human  nature  reduced  to  the  A^th  degree. 
Even  unaided  by  the  dog,  he  had  expected  to  carry 
through  by  daring  of  a  first-draft  sort. 

"What's  the  case,  sergeant?" 

With  the  question  the  attendant  member  of  the 
force  waved  a  hand  toward  the  sheaf  of  ten  machines 
which  are  kept  unassigned  to  particular  "speed  cops" — 
an  emergency  motive-power  reserve. 

Without  necessity  of  an  equivocation  as  to  who  he 
was,  without  flashing  the  badge  of  authority  which  he 
did  not  have — merely  by  using  that  slang  term  for  the 
noisiest  of  motor  vehicles  which  was  in  common  usage 
in  the  Yellowstone  as  well  as  in  New  York,  Pape  had 
declared  himself  in  his  part. 

"Big,"  he  answered.    "Bigger  than  all  the  park." 

Frowning  and  abstracted  from  a  hurry  to  be  off  that 
was  by  no  means  assumed,  he  wheeled  one  of  the  emerg- 
ency machines  into  the  open  doorway. 

"Want  any  help?" 

The  rookie  was  ready;  had  grasped  the  handles  of  a 
second  cycle. 

"No.    Do  I  look  like  I  needed  help?"  In  earnest  now 


146  LONESOME  TOWN 

he  frowned,  but  not  abstractedly.  "Don't  want  any  uni- 
forms following  me.  Ain't  that  kind  of  a  case." 

Without  meeting  other  obstacles,  Pape  was  off  upon 
the  marked  official  machine.  About  one  minute  lasted 
his  ride  upon  this  steed,  fleeter  than  Polkadot  at  his 
best.  As  though  for  the  first  time  noticing  the  diggers 
among  the  park  poplars,  he  stopped  with  a  toot  of  the 
cycle  siren.  Dismounting,  he  dropped  the  standard, 
parked  the  machine  at  the  side  of  the  road  and  advanced 
upon  the  despoilers.  On  the  way  he  charged  himself 
that  in  this  "kind  of  case" — three  burlies  and  a  boss  to 
one  uniformed  objector  whose  only  authority  was  a 
woman's  service — mind  more  than  muscle  would  be 
needed. 

He  was  met  by  the  thin-faced  man.  "S'all  right, 
officer.  We  ain't  looking  for  Cap'n  Kidd's  treasure." 

Pape  smiled  more  inwardly  than  outwardly,  although 
he  felt  that  he  well  could  afford  to  do  both  on  being 
mistaken,  a  second  time  within  the  last  few  minutes, 
for  a  plain-clothes  man. 

"Who  are  you  and  what  you  up  to?"  he  demanded. 

"Name's  Welch — Swinton  Welch,  contractor.  I'm 
digging  a  ditch  to  put  in  a  sub-surface  drain.  Want 
to  see  the  permit?" 

Producing  a  worn  paper  from  his  breast  pocket,  the 
small  boss  flourished  it. 

"Sure.    Show  me." 

"It's  O.  K.,  else  I  wouldn't  have  the  navvies  at  work." 

"Likely  it  is,"  countered  Pape,  "but  show  me  just 
the  same." 

With  somewhat  less  of  a  flourish  the  paper  was  pre- 


THE  CREDIT  PLAN  147 

sented.  Pape  saw  at  a  glance  that  it  was  written  on  an 
official  form  of  the  Department  of  Parks,  then  scanned 
it  closer. 

"What — "  his  demand  was  louder,  gruffer,  more 
combative  than  before — "what  you  say  you're  doing?" 

"Just  like  the  paper  says — digging  for  a  drain."  The 
sharp-faced  boss  also  grew  more  combative. 

It  is  to  be  remarked  that  the  Italian  laborers  had 
stopped  work  on  the  instant  of  interference.  They 
always  do.  A  shovel  wasted —  Fortunately  the 
stream  of  cars  on  the  roadway  below  flowed  on  without 
a  ripple  of  curiosity  as  to  the  party  on  the  hillock.  The 
pedestrian  paths  were  further  away  and,  at  this  hour, 
preempted  by  the  inevitable  babies,  mothers  and  nurse- 
maids. In  the  great,  green  mixing-bowl  of  all  races 
within  the  world's  most  democratic  city,  no  man  con- 
cerned himself  with  the  by-play  near  the  boundary  ex- 
cept those  directly  involved. 

Pape  scowled  over  the  operation,  with  never  a  glance 
toward  the  stone  wall,  from  over  the  top  of  which  a  pair 
of  black-irised  blue  eyes  probably  were  watching  him — 
a  pair  of  rose-lobed  ears  were  listening.  To  make 
"learning"  easier  he  pulled  another  loud  stop  in  his 
voice. 

"What  you  going  to  drain  to  where?" 

"Don't  exactly  know  myself  yet.  Going  according 
to  orders,"  offered  Mr.  Swinton  Welch.  "One  shovel- 
ful at  a  time  is  my  motto.  Don't  make  no  mistakes 
that  way.  What's  eating  you,  bo?  I  tell  you  it's  all 
O.  K.  or  I  wouldn't  be " 

The  alleged  contractor  was  stopped  in  the  middle 


148  LONESOME  TOWN 

of  his  defense  by  the  glare  lifted  to  his  face  from  the 
sheet  of  paper.  An  unofficial,  yet  official  acting  thumb 
was  jerked  over-shoulder. 

"Out!"  bellowed  a  voice  of  command — Pape's. 
"You  don't  go  wrecking  this  park  with  an  order  that's 
a  year  old,  signed  by  a  commissioner  that's  already  in 
the  discard — leastways  you  don't  while  I'm  above  sod. 
Call  off  your  men  and  beat  it!" 

"I'll  call  off  nobody  nor  nothing."  Evidently  the 
"boss"  wasn't  amenable  to  being  bossed.  "I  know  my 
rights  and  I'll  stand  on  'em  in  spite  of  all  the  plain- 
clothes  crooks  out  of  Sing  Sing.  That  permit's  good 
until  it's  been  used.  If  you  had  half  an  eye  in  your 
head  you'd  see  that  it's  never  been  canceled." 

Pape  folded  the  slip  and  tucked  it  into  his  coat 
pocket.  "You'll  get  off  lighter  if  you  call  it  canceled," 
he  advised.  Turning  to  the  laborers,  he  added:  "Go 
home,  you — no  matter  what  lingo  you  speak.  Beat  it 
— make  tracks — vamoose!" 

The  huskies  did  not  look  to  their  foreman  for  advice. 
To  them  the  voice  of  him  who  had  appeared  upon  the 
thunder-bike  was  fuller  of  authority  than  a  noon 
whistle.  Shouldering  their  implements,  they  straggled 
toward  the  nearest  exit.  Their  wage?  The  boss  of 
their  boss  would  produce  that.  Sufficient  unto  the  day 
was  the  pay  thereof.  Weren't  they  muscle  workers — 
weren't  they  therefore  always  paid? 

"You  give  me  your  number — I  dare  you — your  num- 
ber!" 

The  small  foreman  had  lost  the  sangfroid  of  his  type. 


THE  CREDIT  PLAN  149 

Like  a  cockroach  inadvisedly  investigating  a  hot  grid- 
dle, he  danced  toward  the  taller  man. 

"You  don't  need  to  dare  me  twice.  My  number's  a 
darned  good  one  for  you  to  know.  I'm  23 — that  means 
skidoo!" 

Pape's  sidewise  spring  he  had  learned  from  one  of 
his  Hellroaring  cayuses.  It  brought  within  his  reach 
this  second  disturber  of  Jane  Lauderdale's  peace  and 
quiet.  Only  one  wrench  did  he  need  to  apply  to  the 
wrist  of  the  hand  which  he  had  interrupted  on  its  way 
into  a  side  pocket  of  a  sack  coat. 

"Not  this  morning,"  he  objected. 

The  foreman,  gone  startlingly  white  from  pain  after 
the  recent  red  of  his  chagrin,  of  necessity  permitted 
his  hand  to  be  withdrawn  empty.  And  he  had  no 
power  to  prevent  Pape's  reaching  into  the  pocket  and 
confiscating  a  snub-nosed  automatic.  He  did,  how- 
ever, risk  some  contentious  comment. 

"Nothing  a  real  citizen  loathes  like  you  plain-clothes 
pests.  I'll  show  you  up  proper  in  court,  you  big  bully. 
I  got  a  permit  from  a  judge  to  carry  that  gun,  I'll 
have  you  know." 

"But  not  to  use  it  on  me.  I  put  quite  a  value,  I'll 
have  you  know,  on  my  birthday  suit-of-clothes." 

The  "pest's"  chortle  was  pitched  to  carry  reassurance 
to  and  over  the  park  wall. 

Removing  and  pocketing  the  cartridges,  he  returned 
the  "permitted"  weapon's  frame  to  its  owner.  In  con- 
sideration of  his  utterly  unofficial  status,  he  probably 
would  have  found  an  attempt  to  enforce  New  York 
State's  anti-pistol  law  embarrassing.  At  that,  the  fel- 


ISO  LONESOME  TOWN 

low  probably  did  have  a  permit — he  had  been  told  that 
such  were  easy  enough  to  get.  He  would,  he  felt,  be 
satisfied  if  the  "drain"  excavation  was  postponed  until 
Jane  had  that  coveted  hour  for  the  finish  of  her  own 
mysterious  investigation. 

Perhaps  the  small  boss  regained  some  of  what  would 
seem  constitutional  bravado  from  the  fact  that  his 
license  to  carry  concealed  weapons  had  not  been  de- 
manded. At  any  rate,  he  started  fresh  protest. 

"Say,  if  you'd  any  idea  who  I  was  working  for " 

"I  know  who  I'm  working  for.  That's  idea  enough 
for  me  and  for  you." 

Pape  sat  down  with  his  back  against  the  trunk  of 
the  most  aged  and  sturdy  poplar.  He  looked  as  likely 
to  stay  there  as  the  tree.  The  foreman,  with  a  final 
sputter  of  indignation,  stamped  off  down  the  hill,  hav- 
ing made  no  secret  of  his  objective — the  nearest  tele- 
phone. The  Westerner  saw  him  pause  beside  the  mo- 
torcycle and  make  note  of  the  number  on  its  P.  D. 
plate — a  last  amusing  touch  to  a  uniquely  pleasurable 
experience.  Small  satisf action  would  Welch  get  if  he 
tried  to  trace  and  punish  the  particular  "cop"  who  had 
ridden  that  particular  police  "firecracker"  that  particu- 
lar afternoon.  Kicko  alone  could  give  him  away  and 
Kicko  was  too  much  of  a  Belgian  to  tell  on  a  friend. 

Some  minutes  after  the  foreman  had  disappeared  in 
the  general  direction  of  Columbus  Circle,  Pape  arose 
and  sauntered  toward  the  park  wall.  He  did  not  trouble 
himself  further  about  his  steed  of  raucous  breath,  steel 
ribs  and  rubber  hoofs.  A  "sparrow  cop"  would  hap- 
pen upon  that  sooner  or  later  and  trundle  it  back  to 


THE  CREDIT  PLAN  151 

the  Sheep  fold  garage.  The  Force  could  take  for 
granted  that  its  plain-clothe's  borrower  had  found  nec- 
essity to  abandon  it  in  course  of  duty.  Plainly  labeled 
as  a  piece  of  city  property  by  its  official  number  plate, 
it  was  safe  enough. 

He  scaled  the  wall  at  a  calculated  point  and  gave  him- 
self completely  to  the  joys  of  victory  when  he  saw  her 
who  had  sent  him  into  the  arena  seated  on  a  shaded 
bench  a  short  distance  above.  He  joined  her.  Gallantly 
as  some  champion  of  old  he  handed  her  the  trophy 
brought  back  from  the  fight — the  venerable  drain-build- 
ing permit. 

"This  is  all  the  authority  they  had  for  daylight  dig- 
ging," he  remarked. 

"Then — then  they  haven't  deciphered  it?"  she 
breathed  with  manifest  relief,  after  a  moment's  study 
of  the  official  sheet. 

"It?    Just  what — "  he  began  to  ask,  then  stopped. 

Let  her  tell  him  if  and  when  she  liked.  Until  and 
unless,  he  would  continue  his  rudderless,  questionless 
course. 

"Don't  you  see,"  she  was  generous  enough  to  add, 
"if  they  had  solved  the  cryptogram,  they  never  would 
have  been  using  this  ?  With  their  influence  they'd  have 
secured  a  special  permit.  It  may  be  that  one  of  the 
gang  saw  me  digging  there  last  night  and  assumed  that 
I  knew  more  than  I  really  do.  There  have  been  signs 
recently  that  I  was  followed  by  more  than — than  your- 
self. That  man  on  the  knob  last  night —  Don't  you 
suppose  he  had  watched  me — trailed  me — lain  in  wait 


152  LONESOME  TOWN 

for  me  to  take  from  me  whatever  I  might  have  dug 
up?" 

They?    Their?    The  gang? 

These  succinct  demands  Pape  did  not  put  in  words 
although,  telepathically,  he  did  not  restrain  his  curi- 
osity. Probably  she  got  something  of  his  vehemence 
and  decided  that  something  was  due  him.  She  ab- 
stracted her  attention  completely  from  the  passers-by 
and  gave  it  to  him. 

"You  were  fine,  Peter  Pape,  fine.  After  dark  to- 
night I'll  come  back  and  finish  my  search.  If  I'd 
stopped  to  think — except  for  my  desperation,  you  know 
— I  never  should  have  asked  you  to  put  those  people 
out,  it  was  so  impossible.  But  you  were  inspired  with 
the  one-best  idea.  You  handled  the  expulsion  act  as 
artistically  as — as  an  actor  in  his  big  scene." 

Now,  had  there  been  time  for  Pape  to  foreplan  his 
curtain  speech  he  might  have  continued  to  be  artistic. 
But  Jane's  applause  seemed  to  go  to  his  head.  He 
honestly  had  meant  to  continue  histrionically  sup- 
pressed, unasking,  admirable.  Yet  he  didn't;  just 
couldn't.  He  stretched  his  arm  along  the  back  of  the 
bench  until  his  finger-tips  touched  the  tweed  of  her 
sleeve.  Perhaps  the  contact  was  unnerving.  Perhaps 
her  eyes  were  too  earnest.  Perhaps  her  faint,  wistful 
smile  was  falsely  promising.  At  any  rate,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do  what  he  had  determined  not  to  do. 

"It  was  quite  a  stunt.  I  admit  it,"  he  said.  "Don't 
you  think  you  sort  of  ought  to — That  is,  don't  you  want 
to  reward  me?" 

"Reward  you?" 


THE  CREDIT  PLAN  153 

She  drew  away  from  him  and  his  suggestion. 

"Of  course  I  don't  mean  just  that."  Pape's  eyes 
were  on  her  lips.  "You  paid  me  beforehand.  What  I 
wish  you'd  do  is  to  get  me  in  your  debt  again.  The 
credit  system  is  the  one  for  me.  I  can  do  anything  to 
make  good  when  I'm  deep  in  debt.  Will  you — won't 
you " 

"Odious!" 

A  second  or  so  he  blinked  into  the  blast  of  her  inter- 
ruption. By  its  flare  he  saw  her  interpretation  of  his 
bad  beginning.  He  tried  an  extinguisher. 

"Wait  a  minute.  Don't  flay  me  before  you  under- 
stand. I'm  not  such  a  jasper  as  to  mean  to  exact — 
What  I  wish  you'd  do —  What  I  want  to  ask —  Jane, 
have  a  little  mercy  on  me.  Tell  me  who  and  what  to 
you  is  that  man  living  in  your  flat." 

From  the  look  of  her,  judging  dispassionately  as 
possible,  all  was  over  between  them.  She  got  to  her 
feet,  as  he  to  his.  She  looked  strengthened  by  righteous 
rage,  he  weakened  by  unrighteous  humility.  She  made 
the  only  utterances — and  they  did  not  help  much,  being 
rather  fragmentary. 

"You  think  that  I —  You  have  assumed  that  he — 
You  believe  that  we —  So  that  is  why " 

In  the  pause  that  preceded  the  lash  of  further  lan- 
guage, Peter  Pape  realized  what  it  was  to  be  a  dumb 
brute.  He  felt  as  must  certain  dogs  he  had  tried  to 
understand — faithful,  well-intentioned,  unequal  to  ex- 
plaining themselves.  He  knew  that  he  did  not  deserve 
chastisement  at  the  beloved  hand,  yet  could  not  resent 


I54  LONESOME  TOWN 

or  avert  it.  Like  a  dog  he  leveled  his  eyes  on  hers  and 
looked — silent,  honest,  worshipful. 

And  Jane  Lauderdale  proved  to  have  a  heart  for 
dumb  brutes. 

A  taxi  with  flag  out  had  slowed  at  her  gesture.  She 
was  about  to  enter  it.  In  quiet,  crisp  tones  she  gave 
her  address  to  the  driver;  then  these  instructions  to 
Paper 

"Get  the  next  cab  that  comes  along  and  follow  me 
to  East  Sixty-third  Street.  Under  the  circumstances 
you  will  excuse  me  for  preferring  to  ride  over  alone. 
Fll  wait  for  you  on  the  stoop." 

She  did.  And  without  a  word  she  preceded  him  up 
the  three  screeching,  scrooping,  shrieking  flights,  which 
were  not  nearly  so  uncommunicative  as  his  guide. 

"Life's  a  shaky  thing.  But  love  is  worse — worse 
—worse" — the  first.  And  the  scroopy  second :  "Things 
get  queerer  every  step— queerer — queerer."  Shrieked 
the  third :  "Look  out.  Like  as  not  he'll  leap  and  lam 
you.  Look  out  lest  he  leap  and  lam !" 

The  fourth  floor  front  was  empty  when  they  entered. 
Pape  noted  its  quaint  consistency  during  the  moment 
she  left  him  alone — an  oblong  room  fitted  sparingly 
with  Colonial  antiques,  with  a  round  rag  rug  over  the 
boards  of  its  floor,  with  several  old,  interesting  engrav- 
ings on  its  walls.  He  merely  glanced  at  the  horsehair 
Davenport  to  which  she  had  waved  him;  turned  and 
stood  with  face  toward  the  sliding  door  through  which 
she  had  disappeared. 

Soon  this  door  was  drawn  open.  Forward  she  led 
by  the  hand  the  man.  A  tall,  fit  specimen  he  was,  his 


THE  CREDIT  PLAN  155 

face  clean-shaved  and  strong- featured,  his  hair  a  tawny 
mass  which  probably  once  had  been  auburn,  but  now 
was  blond  from  a  two-thirds  admixture  of  gray. 

The  light  of  devotion  irradiated  the  girl's  uplifted 
face  as  she  stopped  before  him.  She  looked  like  a  slen- 
der white  taper  beside  some  shrine,  her  lips  the  live  red, 
her  eyes  the  blaze  blue,  her  hair  the  waving  suggestion 
of  its  lighted  tip. 

"Dear,"  she  said  to  her  companion,  "I  want  to  in- 
troduce Mr.  Why-Not  Pape,  the  Westerner  I  told  you 
about." 

The  man's  smile  was  cordial,  beautiful.  He  stepped 
forward  with  outstretched  hand. 

"Welcome  to  our  city,  Why-Not  Pape,"  he  quoted 
from  the  Times  Canon  sign  which,  patently,  had  been 
part  of  Jane's  tale. 

But  Pape  didn't — just  couldn't  meet  the  advance. 
He  stood  stubbornly  still  before  the  Davenport,  his 
arms  stiff  at  his  sides,  his  suffering  eyes  upon  the  lit 
taper — upon  Jane. 

And  into  her  devotional  mood  seemed  to  return  that 
gentling  comprehension  of  dumb  brutes. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  she  said  to  him.  "Mr.  Pape, 
my  father." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  LIMIT  OF  TRUST 

NOT  until  Jane  was  finishing  an  account  of  his 
disposal  of  the  "grave-diggers"  did  Pape  feel 
sure  that  the  splendid  old  man  was  blind.  Suspicion 
had  come  from  the  uncertainty  with  which  he  had 
veered  toward  the  chair  placed  for  him,  from  his  indi- 
rect gaze  toward  the  girl,  from  the  hand  outstretched 
for  the  touch  of  her  hand.  Conclusion  surprised  from 
the  Westerner  a  low,  sympathetic  exclamation  which 
Jane  heard,  evidently  understood  and  chose  to  answer 
openly. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "my  father  has  been  unable  to  see 
since  the  war.  France,  you  know,  and  mustard  gas." 

"Do  you  suppose — "  Curtis  Lauderdale  himself  put 
the  question — "that  otherwise  I'd  permit  my  dear  girl 
to  conduct  this  search  against  our  enemies?" 

"But  the  war — at  your  age,  sir?"  murmured  Pape. 
"Weren't  there  enough  of  us  who  were  young  and  free 
of  family  responsibilities  to  go  into  service?" 

Again  that  rarely  beautiful  smile  from  eyes  which 
appeared  somehow  to  see  more  than  was  visible  to  those 
blessed  with  sight.  "I  was  willing  for  you  youngsters 
to  do  the  actual  fighting.  But  I  felt  called  upon  to  take 
some  part.  What  are  two  eyes  compared  with  the  inner 
knowledge  that  you  did  your  bit?  I  only  helped  to 

156 


THE  LIMIT  OF  TRUST  157 

make  trench  life  easier,  along  with  many  other  K-C's 
and  wearers  of  the  "Y." 

"And  how  did  they — get  you?" 

"Enemy  gas  bombs  didn't  respect  non-combative  in- 
signia or  uniforms.  One  of  them  blinded  me  and  the 
gray  horde  got — well,  one  more  American  prisoner.  I 
was  later  than  most  getting  back  home." 

There  was  a  vitality  in  his  manner — a  throb  of  pure 
joy  in  his  voice — which  eased  the  poignancy  of  the 
younger  man's  pity  and  reminded  him  that  one  mercy 
amid  the  heartbreaks  of  the  big  fight  would  seem  to  be 
the  compensation  seen  by  those  whose  gaze  has  been, 
focused  forever  inward. 

Pape  turned  from  father  to  daughter.  "But  your 
aunt,  Mrs.  Sturgis,  told  me  that  your  father  was " 

"Yes."  Again  Jane  divined  his  perplexity.  "Aunt 
Helene  thinks  that  dad  'went  West,'  as  they  say,  in  the 
war.  She  was  very  much  against  his  going.  And 
when  he  came  back  so  late  and  so— so  much  the  worse 
for  wear,  he  and  I  decided  that  she  and  the  rest  should 
continue  to  believe  the  report  which  had  preceded  him 
across  the  Atlantic,  at  least  until  after  we  forced " 

She  did  not  hesitate;  just  stopped,  having  said  what 
she  evidently  considered  enough.  As  she  showed  no 
curiosity  over  the  when,  where  or  why  fore  of  auntie's 
confidence,  Pape  forced  upon  her  no  report,  either  of 
that  interview  or  the  canter  through  conversational  and 
Central  Park  by-paths  with  Cousin  Irene.  Rather,  he 
gave  to  the  charm  of  personality  in  the  older  man — a 
magnet  toward  which  he  had  turned  willingly  since 
Jane's  justification  in  that  quiet  "my  father." 


158  LONESOME  TOWN 

"But  since  you  are  freed,  sir — now  that  you  are 
back " 

Jane's  eyes  stopped  him,  so  dark  with  suspicion  was 
their  blue. 

"I  don't  know  just  what  is  back  of  your  interest, 
Why-Not  Pape.  But  it  will  do  no  harm,  whichever 
side  you  are  on,  to  admit  a  truth  about  my  father  known 
to  both  his  friends  and  foes.  He  is  under  a  shadow — 
an  undeserved  disgrace  which  culminated  in  an  indict- 
ment. Until  that  shadow  is  dissipated  it  is  better  that 
none  should  know  he  has  come  back.  What  I  decided 
to  trust  you  with  before  you  found  it  out  for  yourself, 
was  the  identity  of  the  man  with  whom  you  thought 
that  I " 

"I  am  too  grateful — "  in  his  turn  Pape  interrupted 
— "ever  to  let  you  regret  that  trust." 

He  spoke  as  he  felt,  with  revealing  sincerity.  His 
look  held  hers ;  the  thrill  of  his  voice  the  moment. 

The  blind  man  lightened  the  pause.  "The  only  thing 
I  had  to  thank  our  enemies  for  was  the  loss  of  my  iden- 
tity. We  thought  advisable  that  it  stay  lost  to  all  but 
Jane.  My  sister-in-law,  kind  as  she  has  been  to  my 
girl-child,  must  have  been  more  relieved  than  grieved 
over  the  alleged  finish  of  one  supposed  to  have  dis- 
graced the  name.  Why  my  daughter  has  seen  fit  to  let 
you,  a  comparative  stranger,  into  the  secret  which  we 
have  guarded  so  carefully " 

Why?  Judging  by  Jane's  set  look  at  the  implied 
criticism,  she  either  could  not  or  would  not  explain. 
The  interloper's  eyes,  still  fixed  on  hers,  reiterated  the 
counter-tiemand,  why  not — why  not? 


THE  LIMIT  OF  TRUST  159 

Her  father,  as  though  sensing  much  more  than  he 
could  see,  reached  out  and  stroked  her  soft,  parted, 
night-black  hair. 

"Never  mind,  Jen- Jen,"  he  said.  "The  fact  that 
you  do  a  thing  makes  it  right  enough  for  me." 

With  sudden  penitent  fervor,  she  seized  and  kissed 
his  hand.  "I  don't  know,  daddy  dear.  It  is  hard  to  be 
sure  about  forced,  snap  judgments.  I  hope  this  West- 
erner is  what  I've  told  you  he  looks.  I  am  glad  to  have 
brought  him  here  to  have  you  help  me  decide.  And  I 
haven't  exactly  let  him  into  anything.  Of  his  own 
force — curiosity,  superfluous  energy  or  whatever  it  is 
that  animates  him — he  has  sort  of  dashed  into  my  life. 
He  knows  about  the  theft  of  grandfather's  cryptogram 
and  that  I'm  trying  to  follow  it  from  memory  in  my 
park  hunt.  But,  of  course,  the  enemy  knows  that  or 
they  wouldn't  be  watching  me  or —  Oh,  I  do  hope  that 
it's  all  right — that  he's  all  right!  Now  that  he  has 
trailed  me  here,  that  he  knows  who  and  where  you  are, 
so  much  depends  upon  his  integrity.  If  he  is  against 
us  and  is  clever,  wouldn't  he  pretend  just  the  same  to 
be  with  us?" 

Had  she  forgotten  his  presence  in  their  midst  or  was 
she  super-acutely  remembering  it?  Pape  wondered. 
He  felt  as  nearly  futile  as  was  constitutional  about 
further  attempts  to  convince  her  of  his  fealty.  On  the 
part  of  the  Self -Selected,  if  not  on  his,  that  slow-but- 
sure  method  would  have  to  do.  Time  and  acts  would 
tell — time  and  acts  and  this  high-priest  of  hers,  for  love 
of  whom  she  had  lit  into  a  devotional  taper. 


160  LONESOME  TOWN 

He — her  father — proceeded  at  once  to  fulfill  her 
prayer — to  "help  her  decide." 

"Dear,"  he  proposed,  "would  it  be  too  much  to  ask 
you  to  serve  us  tea?  If  it  is,  just  forget  my  bad  habit 
But  that  last  Orange  Pekoe  you  got  is  delicious.  And 
there  are  a  few  fig-cakes  left  in  the  box.  I'll  try  to 
entertain  this  latest  acquisition  of  yours  while  you're 
bringing  the  water  to  a  boil." 

He  did  try — and  succeeded.  As  soon  as  the  girl  had 
left  the  room,  he  began  in  a  lowered  tone : 

"I  was  glad  to  do  what  I  could  for  my  country,  even 
at  the  cost.  My  misfortune  I  have  learned  to  look  on 
as  the  fortune  of  war.  My  keenest  regret — "  he  gave  a 
sightless  glance  toward  the  closed  door — "is  the  loss  of 
seeing  Jane's  face.  From  her  babyhood  up,  I  have  so 
enjoyed  Jane's  face.  I  keep  wondering  and  wondering 
whether  it  has  changed  or  aged  from  the  years  and  the, 
suffering  I've  caused  her — whether  it  is  less  or  more 
lovely  than  when  I  last  saw  it  that  day  I  kissed  it 
good-by." 

"It  is,"  said  Pape  with  conviction,  "more  lovely.  It 
must  be.  You  or  any  man  would  need  to  be  a  patriot, 
sir,  to  love  and  leave  such  a  face.  It  reminds  me  of 
one  I  didn't  have  to  leave — one  that  led  me  over  that 
long  road  Over  There  to  and  through  hell." 

"And  whose  face  was  that?" 

"My  mother's." 

The  old  man  looked  arrested  and  pleased.  He 
nodded,  as  though  in  realization  of  a  hope. 

"Tell  me,"  he  bade  the  younger,  "what  Jane  looks 
like  to  you." 


THE  LIMIT  OF  TRUST  161 

Well  it  was,  perhaps,  that  he  could  not  see  the  em- 
barrassment he  had  caused.  Indeed,  Pape  didn't  feel 
up  to  the  sudden  demand  upon  his  sparse  supply  of  fine 
language.  He  couldn't  have  felt  less  adequate,  he  was 
sure,  had  he  been  called  upon  for  an  extemporaneous 
critique  upon  the  Sistine  Madonna  in  the  presence  of 
its  creator. 

And  yet  there  were  reasons  and  reasons  in  this  case 
why  he  should  try  to  satisfy  the  eagerness  of  the  fine 
old  face  bent  his  way  in  a  listening  attitude.  The 
pathos  of  eyes  from  which  the  soul  of  sight  had  gone, 
the  worthiness  of  the  subject  and  a  certain  longing 
within  himself  to  express  to  the  next  most  interested 
person  the  appreciation  which  so  far  he  had  been  unable 
to  confide  even  in  her  who  had  inspired  it — all  urged 
him  to  make  an  effort. 

He  drew  a  deep  breath ;  wondered  how  far  away  she 
was ;  hoped,  then  feared  that  possibly  she  would  over- 
hear. He  feared,  lest  he  fall  short  of  the  flattery  which 
must  have  been  poured,  her  life  long,  into  her  ears. 
He  hoped  that  she  might  the  sooner  get  an  idea  of  his 
reverential  admiration. 

"Ever  been  to  the  Yellowstone?" 

At  his  abrupt  question  the  old  man  chuckled. 

"Boy,"  said  he,  "I  knew  our  West  before  you  were 
born.  I  was  one  of  the  first  whites  into  the  Park,  then 
a  wilderness.  Jane  tells  me  you're  from  Hellroaring. 
I  was  one  of  the  party  that  named  the  region." 

"You  don't  tell  me  that  you  are —  Why,  of  course ! 
I  should  have  known.  We  have  a  peak  named  after 
you.  Your  hand,  old  scout !" 


162  LONESOME  TOWN 

The  grip  that  answered  was  one  of  the  sort  Pape 
understood,  a  strong,  firm,  promising  pact  to  the  West 
that  had  come  East.  Surer  at  least  of  his  visible  audi- 
ence, he  roweled  into  the  subject  of  the  moment. 

"In  terms  of  our  Yellowstone,  then,  you  daughter's 
eyes  remind  me  of  Morning  Glory  Geyser.  Could  I 
say  more  for  their  color,  sir?" 

"No.  The  same  sun  that  whitened  the  Glory's  spray 
seemed  to  make  the  deeps  of  its  pool  a  stronger  blue. 
And  her  hair,  young  man,  is  it ?" 

"Black  as  the  jade  of  Obsidian  Cliffs,"  Pape  sup- 
plied, then  corrected  himself.  "Yet  that  don't  seem  an 
altogether  proper  simile,  it  is  so  soft.  Of  course,  I've 
never  touched  it,  sir,  but  I've  an  idea  that  the  mountain 
moss,  where  we  find  the  giant  violets,  would  feel  harsh 
to  the  hand  that  had  smoothed  your  daughter's  hair." 

"It  would  that.  Thank  God  they  didn't  blind  my 
sense  of  touch !  My  fingers  never  tire  of  seeing  Jane's 
soft  hair." 

"Then  your  fingers  must  be  able  to  see  her  lips,  too, 
for  they  are  as  definitely  dented  as  those  of  an  ante- 
lope doe.  And  they're  as  healthy  a  red  as  ever  they 
could  have  been  in  her  childhood — red  as  the  sun  when 
it  gets  over  into  Idaho.  And  the  Teton  Range  itself 
can't  beat  her  for  clean,  strong  lines.  I've  never  seen  a 
woman  who  was  such  a  blend  of  delicacy  and  power 
as  your  Jane.  Still  or  in  movement,  I  admire  to  watch 
her." 

Lauderdale  leaned  back  into  his  chair  with  a  sigh  of 
satisfaction.  "I  used  to  call  her  'Little  Lynx.'  There 
never  was  such  a  child  for  sinuousness.  Ah,  what  a 


THE  LIMIT  OF  TRUST  163 

treat  you're  giving  me,  Mr.  Pape,  to  help  me  see  again 
the  beauties  of  my  beautiful  girl!  Tell  me — "  The 
father's  voice  lowered  without  loss  of  eagerness.  His 
hands  quavered  forward,  as  though  to  supply  the  lack 
in  his  misted,  striving  eyes.  "I  want  to  know  particu- 
larly about  the  expression  of  her  face.  Has  the  trouble 
I've  brought  upon  her  shadowed  its  brilliant  paleness? 
Has  it  still  that  rare  repose,  with  only  a  lift  of  the  eye- 
lid, a  twitch  of  a  corner  of  her  lips  or  a  quiver  of  her 
chin,  to  show  the  emotions  beneath?" 

Pape  drew  back  from  the  he-man  habit  of  hiding  his 
heart;  then,  after  a  thought,  leaned  forward  again. 
Why  hide  from  this  one  man  who  could  be  her  true 
lover,  yet  no  rival  to  himself?  Why  not  show  what 
he  felt  ?  He  closed  his  eyes,  the  better  and  more  com- 
panionably  to  picture  Jane.  He  felt  that  they  two,  both 
sightless  now,  saw  the  same  vision  as  he  spoke. 

"I  ain't  what  you'd  call  up  in  art,  sir.  But  I  saw  in 
Paris  the  finest  statues  in  the  world,  or  so  they  told 
me.  The  quiet  of  those  still,  white  people  sort  of  got 
on  my  imagination.  Their  suppression  seemed  to  spoil 
me  for  the  awful  animation  of  the  average  face.  Likely 
that's  why  your  Jane's  got  me  at  first  sight,  although 
I  hadn't  thought  it  out  up  to  now.  Hers  is  the  first 
female  face  I  ever  was  glad  to  watch  in  vain  for  a 
smile.  There  couldn't  be  a  marble  paler  or  purer  or 
with  features  finer  lined.  Just  as  I  used  to  thank 
Heaven,  looking  at  those  statued  ladies,  that  they 
couldn't  relax  from  their  perfection,  I  feel  like  praying 
that  Jane  never  will  relax  into  a  smile — until  she  smiles 
on  me." 


164  LONESOME  TOWN 

A  crowded  silence  fell  between,  but  did  not  separate 
them.  Its  most  vital  question  the  Westerner  next  an- 
swered bluntly,  after  his  way. 

"It  ain't  impudence,  my  calling  her  by  her  first  name, 
Mr.  Lauderdale.  I  haven't  had  a  real  good  opportunity 
as  yet  to  ask  your  daughter  to  marry  me.  You  see, 
we  haven't  met  any  too  often — this  is  time  the  fourth 
and  only  a  shade  less  perturbed  than  the  former  three. 
But  rest  assured  that  I'll  take  advantage  of  the  first 
chance.  Our  'happily-ever-afterward'  is  all  settled  so 
far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"I  see." 

Although  in  one  way  the  blind  man's  quiet  statement 
wasn't  true,  in  another  he  looked  as  though  it  was. 

At  a  call  from  the  rear  room,  Pape  sprang  to  open 
the  door  and  relieve  Jane  of  her  laden  tea-tray.  On 
turning,  he  noticed  that  the  father's  one  hand  gripped 
the  other  in  his  strong,  firm,  Westernwise  clasp,  as 
though  in  self -congratulation.  He  looked  as  though  he 
now  felt  sincere  in  the  welcome  extended  earlier  for 
form's  sake  to  one  Peter  Stansbury  Pape.  Just  why? 
Well,  why  not?, 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AN  ACCEPTED  ALLY 

MR.  PAPE  has  been  painting  your  picture  with  a 
brush  dipped  in  qolors  of  the  Yellowstone," 
observed  Curtis  Lauderdale  as  he  sipped  the  fragrant 
amber  brew  which  his  daughter  had  poured  and  passed. 

The  girl  flashed  their  guest  an  indignant  glance. 
"Attacking  dad  at  his  weakest  point?  For  that  I 
should  paint  him  an  awful  picture  of  you." 

"With  a  brush  dipped  in  colors  of  the  truth?" 

At  her  threat  and  Pape's  meek  retort,  the  old  man's 
eyes  continued  to  beam  their  way,  as  only  sightless  eyes 
can  beam. 

"You  needn't,  Jen- Jen.  It  doesn't  matter  what  Mr. 
Pape  looks  like.  Men  show  less  on  the  outside  what 
they  are  than  women.  I'd  rather  see  him  as  he  is  in- 
wardly. Already  I  know  that  he  has  both  an  imagina- 
tion and  a  sense  of  humor.  And  he  is  direct  with  the 
skookum  talk,  which  doesn't  lend  to  lies.  As  for  his 
exterior,  I  imagine  him  as  moderately  sizeable  and 
well-muscled  and  plain,  or  you  wouldn't  have  brought 
him  around." 

"Immoderately  plain,"  she  corrected,  still  with  a 
punishing  air. 

"Good.  Then  I've  got  him — "  her  parent  with  a 
chuckle.  "Now  it  seems  to  me,  if  he's  done  for  us  all 

165 


1 66  LONESOME  TOWN 

you  say  he  has,  that  we  owe  him  some  explanation." 

At  once  Jane's  quasi-disapproval  of  their  quickly 
established  fellowship  turned  into  real. 

"Explanation  has  been  our  downfall,  dad,"  she 
warned.  "You  know  your  failing.  You  trust  too 
much  and  too  soon.  You  seem  to  have  got  worse  in- 
stead of  better — positively — since  you  went  to  the 
war." 

"She's  right,  Mr.  Lauderdale,"  Pape  advised.  "It 
is  too  soon  to  trust  me  in  skookum  or  any  other  foreign 
language.  But  you  seem  shy  some  sort  of  help  which 
I'd  like  to  supply  if  I  can.  Why  waste  time  explain- 
ing? You're  entitled — on  face  value,  you  know — to 
the  best  I  can  give.  There'll  be  plenty  of  time  to  ex- 
plain after  we've  horned  off  all  these  nesters  that  seem 
to  be  rooting  around  your  ranch." 

"Another  good  quality — generosity,"  commented  the 
older  man  in  an  argumentative  way  to  his  daughter. 
"Don't  you  think,  dear,  that  it  would  be  safe  enough 
to  tell  him  a  certain  amount  of  the  truth,  even  though 
he  should  prove  to  be  an  active  agent  of  our  enemies  ? 
If  on  the  other  side,  he'd  know  it  anyhow.  If  on  ours, 
he'd  be  at  a  serious  disadvantage  without  some  of  the 
facts.  We  are  in  no  position  to  despise  an  ally,  Jane, 
and " 

Pape  was  determined  that  her  confidence  should  not 
be  forced,  even  by  her  father.  He  interrupted  briskly : 

"Which  or  whether,  let  me  trust  you  folks  first.  I 
am  almost  as  much  a  stranger  to  you  as  you  to  me — 
and  no  more  given  to  explanations  than  our  young 
friend  here.  I  feel  kind  of  called  to  tell  you  who  I  am 


AN  ACCEPTED  ALLY  167 

and  why  I'm  stranded  in  this  Far  East  of  New  York. 
You  may  scent  something  in  common  in  the  sad  little 
story  of  my  life,  for  I,  too,  am  on  a  still  hunt  for  an 
enemy  or  enemies  unknown." 

He  offered  his  tea  cup  for  a  refilling,  climbed  to  his 
feet  and  steadied  the  china  across  to  the  white  marble 
mantelpiece.  There  he  stood  and  drank  the  beverage 
between  the  deliberate  lines  of  his  opening.  He  began 
at  the  beginning — or  thereabouts — of  Peter  Pape. 
Over  the  early  days  of  his  stock-raising  struggle  to 
those  of  comparative,  present  success  on  the  Queer 
Question  Ranch  he  passed  in  fair  style  and  with  reason- 
able rapidity.  Thence  he  slowed  down  to  the  near  past 
and  its  sudden,  oleaginous  wealth. 

As  is  so  often  the  case  in  oil,  he,  as  owner  of  the 
land,  had  been  the  last  to  suspect  the  presence  of  this 
liquid  "gold"  beneath  his  acres.  Only  the  fact  that  he 
loved  his  ranch  and  would  not  sell  the  heart  of  it  had 
saved  him.  Price  proffers  had  risen  slowly  but  surely 
until  they  reached  figures  which  caused  him  to  suspect, 
not  the  worst,  but  the  best.  He  had  drilled  on  a  chance 
to  a  ceaseless  flow  of  fortune. 

His  account  carried  its  own  conviction  and  fulfilled 
his  preface  except  for  one  point.  Where  had  he  any 
cause,  in  this  generous  deal  of  Fate,  to  be  resenting  or 
seeking  to  punish  enemies,  unknown  or  otherwise? 
The  blind  man  pointed  the  omission. 

"Notwithstanding  the  enough-and-to-spare  that  I've 
got,  sir,  they  stung  me,  these  sharpers,  through  a  lot  of 
poor  folks  who  couldn't  afford  even  a  nettle  prick. 
Before  I  got  hep  to  what  was  up  I  had  sold  a  small 


168  LONESOME  TOWN 

tract  for  which  I  had  no  further  use  to  an  alleged  stu- 
dent of  agriculture  who  had  interested  me  in  a  new 
scheme  for  making  alfalfa  grow  where  nothing  much 
ever  had  grown  before.  When  my  wells  began  to  gush 
by  fifties  and  hundreds  of  barrels,  the  backer  of  this 
fake  farmer  organized  an  oil  company  on  the  strength 
of  his  buy  and  floated  stock  right  and  left." 

He  paused  to  clinch  and  thump  a  fist  upon  the 
mantel-shelf;  then  glowered  unreasonably  at  the  nerv- 
ous quivers  of  the  wax  flowers  within  the  glass  case 
which  formed  its  centerpiece. 

"When  widows  with  orphans  from  everywhere  and 
some  of  my  friends  from  nearby  cow-towns  began  to 
write  and  ask  me  about  their  promised  dividends — 
Well,  folks,  in  time  I  got  wisened  to  the  fact  that  my 
name  had  been  used  along  with  the  fame  of  Queer 
Question  production.  I  asked  myself  a  question  that 
didn't  sound  as  queer  to  me  as  to  the  bunch  of  sharpers 
that  I  soon  put  it  to.  After  I'd  gathered  them  in  and 
the  Federal  Court  had  helped  me  hand  'em  what  was 
over-due,  I  started  on  a  long,  long  trail  after  the  big 
guy  that  had  planned  the  crooked  deal.  I'm  still  stalk- 
ing him.  He's  lurking  down  in  that  gulch  of  Wall 
Street  to-day  or  I'm  clean  off  the  trail.  You  see, 
friends,  the  Montana  Gusher  Oil  Fields,  Inc.,  hasn't 
even  a  smell  of  oil.  When  I  find  the  promoter " 

"Montana  Gusher — was  that  the  company's  name?" 
Jane's  interruption  was  more  than  interested;  was 
voiced  with  suppressed  excitement.  She  turned  toward 
her  father.  "You  remember  my  telling  you  of  Aunt 
Helene's  narrow  escape  from  buying  a  block  of  worth- 


AN  ACCEPTED  ALLY  169 

less  oil  stock  a  year  ago?    She  was  only  saved  by " 

"Child,  child,  don't  name  names,"  the  blind  man 
reproved  her.  On  his  face,  however,  was  the  reflex  of 
her  startled  look. 

"It's  all  right  to  say  'child,  child,'  "  insisted  the  girl 
vehemently.  "You  never  would  believe  ill  of  any  one 
until  it  was  proved  at  your  expense.  Doesn't  it  strike 
you  as  strange  that  he  should  have  been  the  one  to  know 
all  about  these  far-away  oil  fields  without  time  for 
investigation — that  he  was  able  to  dissuade  Auntie 
against  the  smooth  arguments  of  a  salesman  whose 
claim  on  him  as  a  friend  he  had  acknowledged?  Do 
you  suppose  the  promoter  of  Montana  Gusher  could 
have  been " 

"Wait,  Jen-Jen.  You'd  better  be  sure  before  sug- 
gesting such  a  charge  to  this  young  man.  You  can 
see  that  he  is  in  earnest.  If  you  should  be  wrong " 

"You're  plumb  right  about  my  being  in  earnest," 
Pape  cut  in.  "But  I'm  willing  to  go  into  all  details 
before  asking  you  to  name  me  that  name.  I  shouldn't 
have  minded  so  much  had  it  been  my  bank  account  that 
was  tapped.  What  they  did  me  out  of,  though,  was  the 
good- faith  of  my  friends  and  neighbors.  When  they 
made  me  look  like  the  robber  of  widows  and  orphans 
instead  of  themselves —  Well,  if  ever  I  get  a  rope 
around  the  scrub  neck  of  that " 

On  account  of  an  interruption  he  did  not  finish  the 
threat.  A  peculiarly  tuneful  auto  siren  sounded  up 
from  the  street  through  the  open  windows.  Jane  got 
to  her  feet  with  such  suddenness  as  to  jeopard  the 
entire  China  population  of  the  tea-table.  She  crossed 


170  LONESOME  TOWN 

to  one  of  the  windows;  held  the  Swiss  curtain  before 
her  face;  looked  out  and  down. 

"I  thought  I  couldn't  be  mistaken."  Her  report  was 
low-spoken,  but  tense.  "The  Allen  car  has  stopped  in 
the  street,  across  from  the  house." 

"Not —  Sam  Allen  couldn't  have  found  me  over 
here  ?"  The  blind  man  also  arose.  With  hands  out,  he 
swayed  after  her.  "You  must  be  mistaken,  Jane.  Look 
again !" 

"How  could  I  be  mistaken?  They  are  out  of  the 
car  now.  They're  looking  at  the  house  number.  What 
— what  can  this  mean  ?" 

Jane  drew  in  from  the  window;  leveled  upon  her 
parent  a  look  of  acute  alarm;  saw  and  remembered 
Pape.  With  an  attempt  at  naturalness  she  explained: 

"Mr.  Allen  was  my  father's  lawyer  and  one  of  his 
oldest  friends.  We  are  surprised  by  this  visit  because 
he  isn't  supposed  to  know  even  that  dad  is  alive,  let 
alone  his  address  in  New  York." 

"You  said  'they,'  Jane,"  her  father  puzzled.  "Who 
else " 

"Mills  Harford  is  with  him." 

The  old  man  seemed  shaken  anew.  "How  could 
Harford  know  that  we're  here  unless  Jasper " 

"No,  dad,  not  Jasper.  He  is  faithful  as  the  moon. 
You  know  that.  It  strikes  me  as  more  possible 
that — "  In  a  return  rush  of  suspicion  she  faced  the 
Westerner.  "Mr.  Pape  met  both  Mills  and  Judge  Allen 
at  the  opera  and  later  at  Aunt  Helene's.  He  is  the 
only  person  who,  to  my  knowledge,  has  discovered  my 
disguise  and  our  whereabouts." 


AN  ACCEPTED  ALLY  171 

Pape  returned  her  look  steadily  and  rather  resent- 
fully. "That  is  true,  Miss  Lauderdale.  But  I  have 
had  no  communication  with  either  of  them  since,  al- 
though I  did  visit  both  their  offices  with  the  hope  of 
locating  you.  Only  yesterday  I  was  told  that  Harford 
was  out  of  town." 

The  blind  man  threw  up  his  hands  intolerantly. 
"Out  of  town,  was  he,  and  leaving  a  love-letter  a  day 
at  the  Sturgis  house  for  Jasper  to  deliver,  all  written 
at  his  club?  Do  you  think  that  hare-hound  would  go 
out  of  town  so  long  as  he  suspects  that  Jane  is  in  it? 
What  are  they  doing  now?" 

"Crossing  straight  toward  our  steps — "  the  girl  in 
low,  quick  tones  from  the  window.  "Judge  Allen  prob- 
ably recognizes  the  house,  despite  its  condition.  He 
was  here  several  times  in  granddad's  day.  He  won't 
have  to  ask  the  way  up." 

"But,  Jane,  they  mustn't  come  up  here — mustn't  get 
in.  What  shall  we  do?" 

"I  don't  know,  dad.  Let  me  think.  Meantime  you, 
Mr.  Pape " 

Again  the  Westerner  heard  that  persistent  suspicion 
of  him  in  her  voice  and  saw  that  she  had  whipped  from 
out  her  blouse  a  very  small,  very  black,  very  competent- 
looking  something  which  he  was  glad  to  know  she 
wore. 

"You  are  not  to  show  your  face  at  the  window  and 
you  are  not  to  cross  the  room  when  they  knock,"  she 
told  him.  "If  you  so  much  as  cough " 

Pape  eyed  her  interestedly  and  decided  that  she  meant 
the  implied  threat.  The  puzzle  of  the  Lauderdales,  far 


172  LONESOME  TOWN 

from  being  solved,  was  growing  more  intricate.  Why 
should  these  two  delightful  and,  he  felt  sure,  innocent 
persons  so  fear  the  prospective  visit — the  old  man  from 
his  lawyer  and  friend,  his  daughter  from  the  person- 
able and  wealthy  young  real-estater  whom  Irene  Sturgis 
had  declared  to  be  her  most  ardent  suitor?  Truly,  the 
case  was  one  for  a  show  of  blind,  dumb  and  deaf 
faith. 

The  increase  of  tension  as  heavy  steps  began  to 
scroop  up  the  stairs  seemed  to  emanate  from  the  figure 
of  Jane  Lauderdale.  Straight  and  strong  she  stood  in 
the  center  of  the  room,  her  face  more  marble-like  than 
the  mantel.  Her  head  was  thrown  up  in  an  attitude 
of  alert  listening.  The  black  something  in  her  right 
hand  continued  to  command  the  suspect  of  circum- 
stance. 

He,  although  in  a  somewhat  easy  attitude,  demon- 
strated that  he  knew  how  to  behave  when  "covered." 
He  did  not  so  much  as  glance  toward  the  window. 
And  he  showed  no  tendency  to  cough.  His  one  deflec- 
tion was  a  scarcely  audible  whisper. 

"If  I  should  have  to  sneeze,  you  won't  shoot  me, 
Jane?  If  you  do,  you'll  miss  a  lot  of  love." 

At  the  first  light  rap  on  the  door,  Lauderdale's  knees 
seemed  to  weaken  and  he  sat  down  upon  one  end  of 
the  Davenport.  The  younger  pair  stiffened ;  held  their 
breath;  eyed  each  other. 

A  second  knock  sounded,  then  a  more  imperative 
third.  An  advisory  discussion  outside,  too  low-voiced 
for  intelligibility,  ended  in  a  fourth  demand  for  admit- 


AN  ACCEPTED  ALLY  173 

tance,  knuckled  to  carry  to  the  rear  of  the  house  and 
waken  any  sleeper  within. 

At  each  repetition  the  blind  man  had  shuddered  and 
gripped  harder  the  arm  of  the  Davenport.  Now  he 
flung  out  a  summoning  hand  toward  his  daughter. 
She,  with  her  trio  of  eyes  on  their  silent  guest — her 
own  blazing  blue  pair  and  the  single  black  one  of  the 
gun — crossed  and  bent  to  her  father's  rasp : 

"If  they  should  force  the  lock — should  batter  down 
the  door " 

Jane  made  no  attempt  to  reassure  him.  At  a  step 
toward  them  of  the  stranger  she  retraced  her  steps  and 
gestured  him  back  with  the  pistol,  silently  but  most 
significantly. 

Pape,  the  while,  threw  a  trusting  smile  into  the  three 
eyes,  then  strode  straight  toward  them.  Close  to  Jane's 
ear  he  whispered : 

"You  won't  shoot  me.  You  can't.  You'd  lose  too 
much  good  faith." 

Despite  her  outraged  gasp,  he  continued  toward  the 
door  that  was  being  importuned.  Another  smile  he 
threw  over-shoulder  to  reassure  her  of  his  confidence. 

And  Jane  didn't  shoot.  Probably  she  couldn't.  No 
report  shocked  the  air.  Nothing  sounded  except  a 
gruff  demand  from  the  inner  side  of  the  door. 

"Who's  there?    Wha'd'you  want?" 

From  outside :  "Old  friends.  We  wish  to  see  Miss 
Lauderdale." 

"Who?" 

"Lauderdale — Miss  Lau-der-dale." 

"Who  in  holy  Hemlock  directed  you  here,  then? 


174  LONESOME  TOWN 

My  name  ain't  Lauderdale.  Never  will  be.  Stop  the 
noise,  will  you?" 

There  ensued  further  low-voiced  consultation  with- 
out. A  moment  later  footsteps  began  a  descent  of  the 
stairs.  Scroop  .  .  .  screak  .  .  .  screech. 

Not  until  the  musical  siren  announced  the  depart- 
ure from  the  block  of  the  would-be  visitors,  did  Pape 
relax  from  his  listening  attitude  at  the  door.  On  turn- 
ing he  saw  that  Jane,  too,  had  slumped,  limp  and  white, 
into  a  chair,  the  very  black  and  ominous  something 
with  which  she  had  threatened  him  dropped  into  her 
lap.  A  look  half-dazed,  yet  wholly  hopeful  was  on 
her  face. 

"Thank  Heaven — thank  you,  Peter  Pape — they've 
gone !" 

"But  they'll  come  back."  Her  father's  voice  echoed 
none  of  her  relief.  "Allen  and  Harford  must  have 
reason  to  suspect  that  you,  at  least,  are  here  in  the  old 
house.  Otherwise  they'd  not  have  come.  If  my  pres- 
ence, too,  is  suspected,  it  won't  be  long  until  that  other 
pack  comes  to  hound  me  down.  Jane,  you  can't  go 
on  with  this  search,  vital  though  it  be.  Come  what 
may,  you  shan't  be  sacrificed.  It's  no  business  for  a 
girl  alone  and  unprotected.  We'll  have  to  give  it  all 
up,  dear.  I'll  go  away  somewhere — anywhere." 

"But  Jane  ain't  alone  and  unprotected."  Pape 
crossed  the  room  and  faced  them  both.  "Looks  clear 
enough  to  me  why  I  sloped  out  of  the  West  and  into 
the  far  East  just  in  the  nick  o'  time.  I'm  hoping  the 
reason  will  soon  get  clear  to  you." 

The  girl's  lips  moved,  although  she  did  not  speak. 


AN  ACCEPTED  ALLY  175 

She  looked  and  looked  at  him.  Her  father,  unable  to 
see,  worded  the  demand  of  her  eyes. 

"Exactly  what  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Pape?  What  do 
you  offer  and  why?" 

"Why?  Why  not?"  he  asked  in  turn.  "From  this 
moment  on,  just  as  from  the  same  back  to  that  Zaza 
night,  I  am  at  Miss  Lauderdale's  service.  I  have  a 
trusty  bit  of  hardware  myself — "  in  substantiation  he 
drew  from  somewhere  beneath  his  coat  a  blue-black 
revolver  of  heavy  caliber — "and  I  am  not  so  slow  on 
the  draw  as  some.  If  this  pack  you  say  is  trailing  you 
is  determined  to  get  itself  shot  up,  it  would  be  better 
for  me  to  do  it  than  for  her,  wouldn't  it?  And  while 
we're  waiting  for  the  mix-up,  I  could  dig  for  whatever 
it  is  she  is  looking  for.  Oh,  you  needn't  tell  me  what 
that  is !  I've  worked  blind  before.  You  folks  just  tell 
me  when  and  where  to  dig  and  I'll  dig!" 

The  girl  turned  to  her  parent.  "I  think,  after  all, 
I'll  tell  Mr.  Pape " 

"I  think  it  is  time — high  time,  Jane."  He  nodded  in 
vehement  approval. 

Rising,  she  faced  their  guest;  spoke  rapidly,  although 
in  a  thinking  way. 

"You've  earned  the  partial  confidence  that  dad 
wished  to  give  you,  Why-Not  Pape.  This  old  house 
belonged  to  my  grandfather.  He  grew  eccentric  in 
later  life.  The  more  this  East  Side  section  ran  down, 
the  tighter  he  clung  to  it.  Toward  the  end,  he  fitted 
up  this  top-floor  flat  for  himself  and  rented  out  the 
others.  From  sentiment  my  father  didn't  sell  the  house, 


176  LONESOME  TOWN 

although  we  could  have  used  the  money.  We  are  not 
rich  like  the  Sturgis  branch  of  the  family." 

"That  is,  we  are  not  unless " 

"I  am  getting  to  that,  dad."  With  a  shadow  of  her 
former  frown,  Jane  cut  off  her  parent's  interruption. 
"My  grandfather's  other  particular  haunt  was  Central 
Park.  He  knew  it  from  Scholars  Gate  at  Fifty-ninth 
and  Fifth  to  Pioneers  at  the  farther  northwest  corner. 
He  played  croquet  with  other  'old  boys'  on  the  knoll 
above  the  North  Meadow,  sailed  miniature  yachts  for 
silver  cups  on  Conservatory  Lake  and  helped  the  prede- 
cessors of  Shepherd  Tom  tend  their  flocks  on  The 
Green.  He  had  an  eccentric's  distrust  of  banks  and 
deposit  vaults  and  chose  a  spot  in  the  park  as  the  secret 
repository  for  the  most  valuable  thing  he  had  to  leave 
behind  him.  The  only  key  to  the  exact  spot  is  a  crypto- 
gram which  he  worked  out  and  by  which  he  expected 
my  father  to  locate  his  inheritance." 

Pape  filled  the  pause  which,  evidently,  was  for  the 
weighing  of  further  information.  "So  this  crypto- 
gram or  map  was  in  the  stolen  heirloom  snuff-box  the 
night  that  I — that  we " 

"Yes.  My  grandfather,  on  his  death  bed,  tried  to 
tell  me  where  he  had  hidden  it,  but  he  waited  a  moment 
too  long.  For  years  father  and  I  hunted  in  vain.  Not 
until  the  other  day — the  day  of  the  night  on  which  you 
and  I  met,  Peter  Pape — did  I  come  upon  it  quite  by 
accident  in  the  attic  space  of  this  house.  It  was  in  the 
old  snuff-box.  I  took  both  to  Aunt  Helene's  that 
night,  hoping  to  find  time  to  study  and  decipher  it. 
And  I  did  read  it  through  several  times,  memorizing  a 


AN  ACCEPTED  ALLY  177 

verse  or  two  of  it  and  some  of  the  figures  before  the 
opera.  I  asked  my  aunt  to  put  the  box  in  her  safe,  not 
telling  her  its  contents.  The  rest  you  know." 

Although  Pape  felt  the  danger  of  his  "little  knowl- 
edge," he  drove  no  prod;  simply  waited  for  her  to 
volunteer. 

"A  number  of  people  knew  of  our  long  search  for 
grandfather's  covered  map,  among  them  an  enemy 
through  whom  we  have  been  deprived,  but  whose  name 
we  do  not  know.  How  he  could  have  been  informed 
just  when  I  found  or  where  I  placed  it,  I  cannot  con- 
ceive. Possibly  the  safe  has  been  under  periodic 
search,  although  we  never  suspected.  Possibly  some 
one  within  the  house  is  in  the  employ  of  this  unknown 
enemy  and  saw  me  give  it  to  my  aunt  for  deposit  or 
heard  that  I  had  turned  over  some  valuable.  I  was 
unforgivably  careless." 

"An  inside  job?"  Pape  queried.    "I  thought  so." 

"But  not  through  Jasper — I'd  stake  anything  on 
that !"  the  girl  exclaimed.  "He  was  our  own  butler  in 
better  days  and  is  loyal,  I  know.  Since  that  disastrous 
night,  I've  been  trying  to  work  out  the  verses  of  the 
crypt  from  memory  before  its  present  possessor  would 
get  the  key  to  a  translation.  'To  whispers  of  poplars 
four'  was  the  second  line  of  one  of  the  verses.  That 
is  why " 

The  rising  of  Curtis  Lauderdale  interrupted  her. 
He  crossed,  with  a  nervous  clutch  on  this  chair  and 
that,  to  where  Pape  stood  in  the  room's  center. 

"There's  very  great  need  of  haste,"  he  said.  "Now 
that  they  are  watching  Jane's  movements —  Since 


j;8  LONESOME  TOWN 

they've  trailed  her  here —  Mr.  Pape,  I  cannot  afford 
to  mistrust  you,  even  were  I  inclined  to  do  so.  My 
dear  girl  here  blames  me  for  trusting  people,  but  since 
I  must  trust  her  to  some  one,  I'd  rather  it  should  be 
you.  I  accept  and  hold  you  to  your  offer  to  see  her 
safely  through  to-night.  Much  more  than  you  could 
imagine  hangs  in  the  balance.  This  may  be  our  last 
chance." 

"I  never  acknowledge  any  chance  as  the  last  until 
success,  sir."  Pape  again  grasped  the  forward  flut- 
tering right  of  the  blind  man.  His  left  hand  he  ex- 
tended to  the  girl.  "I'll  try  to  deserve  your  father's 
confidence — and  yours,  Jane." 

"Near  the  four  poplars,  then,  at  dusk,"  she  con- 
sented. 

Also  she  gave  him  a  smile,  all  the  lovelier  for  its 
faintness  and  rarity. 

That  moment  of  au  revoir,  in  which  they  formed  a 
complete  circle,  palms  to  palms,  Pape  felt  to  be  his 
initiation  into  what  was  to  him  a  divine  triumvirate. 
"At  dusk !"  There  was  nothing — quite  nothing  which 
he  could  not  accomplish  for  the  common,  if  still  un- 
known cause  that  night,  then,  at  dusk. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

POPLARS  FOUR 

HAD  Peter  Pape  been  at  home  in  Hellroaring  the 
late  afternoon  of  this  crowded  day  in  New 
York,  he  doubtless  would  have  saddled  Polkadot  and 
climbed  to  some  lonely  mesa  for  meditative  fingering 
of  the  odd  chain  into  which  he  had  forged  himself  as 
a  link.  Instead,  he  locked  himself  in  the  Astor  suite, 
little  used  hitherto  except  for  sleep.  The  telephone  he 
silenced  with  a  towel  wrapped  around  the  bell.  He 
closed  the  windows  against  distractions  from  the  street 
and  switched  off  the  electric  fan,  the  whirr  of  which 
sounded  above  the  traffic  roar. 

Yet  with  all  these  aids  to  concentration,  his  resume 
of  facts  newly  given  out  in  the  affairs  of  his  self- 
selected  lady  reached  no  conclusion.  Varying  the  meta- 
phor, no  point  or  eye  could  he  see  to  that  needle,  greater 
than  Central  Park  itself,  which  would  sew  the  fate  of 
the  Lauderdales.  The  best  he  could  do  in  preparation 
for  contingencies  ahead  was  to  throw  a  diamond  hitch 
around  his  resolve  to  do  and  dare  unquestioningly  in 
the  service  to  which  he  now  was  sworn — to  advance 
from  initiate  into  full  membership  of  the  triumvirate. 

He  planned  by  the  clock.  At  six  sharp,  he  rang  for 
dinner  upstairs.  Seven  found  him  again  in  the  garb 
worn  from  the  West,  which  appealed  to  him  as  more 

179 


i8o  LONESOME  TOWN 

suitable  than  any  of  the  "masterpieces"  tailored  for  less 
important  functions  than  that  of  to-night. 

The  blond  floor-clerk,  whose  hall  desk  stood  near  the 
entrance  door  to  his  suite,  .awaited  his  approach  with 
an  "Indian  sign"  of  warning.  But  she  and  he  couldn't 
have  come  from  the  same  tribe;  at  least  he  did  not 
grasp  its  import  until  later  developments  translated  it 
for  him. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Pape,"  she  lisped,  as,  actually,  he  was 
about  to  pass  her  by  without  his  usual  breezy  greeting, 
"you've  had  three  calls  s'evening.  You're  getting  so 
popular.  But  I  must  say  I  don't  wonder  at  all." 

"Three  calls — and  for  me  ?"  He  was  halted  by  hon- 
est amaze.  "How  come?  I  mean,  from  whom  and 
what  about?  Say,  was  one  a  lady's  voice,  sort  of  cool, 
yet  kind,  soft  yet  strong,  gentle  .yet " 

"No  such  riddle  voice  helloed  you,"  snapped  the 
girl.  "Three  adult  males  they  were  that  wanted  you 
and  one  of  them  none  too  kind  or  soft  or  gentle,  at 
that.  I  told  'em  what  I  thought  was  the  truth.  Per- 
sonally, you  know,  I  make  a  specialty  of  the  truth  when 
it  doesn't  do  any  harm.  I  said  that  you  .hadn't  been  in 
since  morning.  They  didn't  appear  to  have  any  names, 
no  more  than  messages  to  leave." 

"Saves  time  answering."  Pape  got  underway  for 
the  elevator.  "Greetings  and  thank-yous,  ma'am,  and 
many  of  them.  If  any  more  males  call  me,  I  may  not 
be  in  until  morning." 

"You  do  lead  the  life!" 

Her  exclamation  faded  into  her  stock-in-trade  smile. 
But  curiosity  was  in  the  baby  stare  with  which  she 

' 


POPLARS  FOUR  181 

followed  him  to  the  grated  door.  A  queer  customer 
among  the  Astor's  queer.  At  that,  though,  as  she  ad- 
mitted to  her  deeper  self,  she  was  "intrigued"  rather 
than  "peeved"  by  his  utter  lack  of  interest  in  what  she 
did  with  her  blond  self  when  off  duty. 

Swinging  across  the  rotunda  six  floors  below,  Pape 
was  startled  to  see  a  face  he  recognized — that  "fight- 
ingest"  face  of  the  bully  with  whom  he  had  gone  the 
single  round  on  the  park  butte-top.  A  clockward 
glance  reminded  him  that  he  was  in  considerable  of  a 
hurry.  He  had  adequate  time  to  keep  the  most  impor- 
tant appointment  of  his  recent  life,  although  none  to 
spare.  The  pug  probably  had  been  one  of  those  to  call 
him  on  the  'phone.  But  wonder  over  how  and  why  he 
had  been  located  by  his  late  antagonist  must  be  de- 
ferred until  some  moment  less  engaged. 

Next  second  Pape  heard  what  he  instantly  surmised 
to  be  the  voice  of  a  second  of  the  three  inquirers — that 
of  Swinton  Welch,  boss  digger  at  the  four  poplars. 
Now,  he  really  felt  indebted  to  the  dapper  sub-contrac- 
tor who,  together  with  the  "grave  diggers,"  on  the 
sacred  spot,  had  put  him  in  stride  for  the  vast  progress 
of  his  day.  Moreover,  he  was  interested  in  the  pos- 
sible connection  between  Welch  and  the  unnamed  bat- 
tler he  had  overcome,  as  indicated  by  their  joint  wait 
at  his  hotel.  Although  he  located  Welch. at  once  lean- 
ing against  the  news-stand,  he  felt  he  should  not  stop, 
even  for  a  word  of  thanks  or  a  pointed  question.  Tilt- 
ing the  brim  of  his  sombrero  over  his  eyes,  he  made 
for  the  Broadway  entrance. 

"There  he  goes,  Duffy!" 


382  LONESOME  TOWN 

From  close  behind,  the  thin  voice  of  the  thin  boss 
answered  several  of  the  queries  which  Pape  might  have 
put  without  need  of  his  putting  them.  So,  the  name 
of  his  adversary  of  the  night  before  was  Duffy !  There 
was  some  connection  between  him  and  Welch.  Both 
were  waiting  for  him. 

A  heavy  hand  clamped  his  shoulder.  "Hey  you, 
what's  your  hurry?" 

Shaking  the  clutch,  Pape  turned  forcefully  just  as 
Welch  joined  Duffy.  With  but  a  fragment  of  a  prefa- 
tory plan,  his  arms  flung  out  flail-like  and  brought  his 
two  untimely  callers  into  violent  collision.  A  short- 
arm  jab  just  below  the  curve  of  Duffy's  ribs  doubled 
him  over  his  undersized  partner  with  a  yap  of  pain. 
Before  the  lobby  crowd  realized  that  anything  unto- 
ward was  being  punched,  Pape's  identity  as  aggressor 
had  been  lost  by  his  dash  for  the  revolving  exit. 

Almost  was  he  within  one  of  the  door's  compart- 
ments when  again  halted — this  time  by  a  slender  youth 
with  an  eye-brow  mustache. 

"I  beg  pardon,  but  isn't  this  Mr.  Why-Not " 

That  is  as  far  as  the  probable  third  of  the  "adult 
males"  got  with  his  mannerly  question.  Perhaps  the 
weariness  of  his  voice  and  the  weakness  of  his  hirsute 
adornment  gave  Pape  the  idea.  At  any  rate  an  unoc- 
cupied arm  chair  stood  ready.  Seizing  the  man's  slen- 
der shoulders,  he  seated  his  third  caller  therein  with 
more  force  than  courtesy. 

"So  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Pape,"  this  in  a  sort  of 
gasp.  "I've  been  here  to  see  you  several  times.  A 
small  matter  of  business.  I'm  from  the " 


POPLARS  FOUR  183 

Pape  did  not  wait.  He  was  not  nearly  so  much 
concerned  over  the  source  of  the  youth  as  that  Welch 
and  Duffy  soon  would  be  up  and  after  him.  He  had 
no  time  for  further  bouts  with  one,  two  or  three,  re- 
gardless of  a  constitutional  disinclination  to  shirk  bat- 
tle. He  pushed  through  the  revolving  door  and  into 
the  traffic  out  front.  On  the  opposite  side  of  Broad- 
way, he  dived  into  the  up-tide  of  pedestrians. 

One  observation  disturbed  hirn^as  he  eased  himself 
into  an  empty  taxi,  with  an  order  to  stop  at  the  Maine 
Monument.  Although  all  others  of  the  varied  sky- 
signs  were  alive,  flaunting  the  wan  daylight  with  their 
artificial  blaze,  the  rose-wrought  welcome  to  Why-Not 
Pape  was  dead.  He'd  find  time  in  the  morning  to  set 
off  a  less  artificial  blaze  of  indignation  before  the  elec- 
tric company  for  their  neglect.  Surely  they  could  spare 
him  as  many  kilowatts  as  that  sausage  maker  or  this 
movie  maid !  His  need  of  the  hired  cheer  of  the  sign 
no  longer  was  urgent,  now  that  he  had  been  hand- 
clasped  into  the  Lauderdale  triumvirate.  Still,  the 
sign  that  had  lit  his  way  to  Jane  was  worthy  of 
perpetuation. 

Before  night-fall  no  likely  place  was  left  in  the  near 
vicinity  of  the  poplars  four  for  any  old  lady's  "la- 
borer" to  dig.  From  the  shadow  of  the  park  wall, 
where  crouched  a  poke-bonneted  figure,  sounded  an 
order  to  cease  work. 

"Hope  has  died  hard,  harder  even  than  you  have 
dug,  you  human  steam-shovel.  I  guess  it's  no  use." 


i84  LONESOME  TOWN 

Jane's  voice  was  as  forlorn  as  she  looked  when  Pape 
swung  up  at  her  call. 

He  leaned  upon  the  man-sized  spade  which  he  had 
purchased  at  a  small  hardware  store  near  Columbus 
Circle  just  before  keeping  their  rendezvous.  He 
mopped  from  brow,  neck  and  hands  the  sweat  of  toil 
as  honest  as  ever  he  had  done. 

"So  far  as  I've  been  able  to  discover,"  the  girl  con- 
tinued, "this  is  the  only  group  of  trees  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  park  that  answers  description.  But 
evidently  they  are  not  the  ones  of  grandfather's 
rhyme." 

Pape  drew  some  few  breaths  calculated  to  steady  his 
pulse  to  normal.  "Being  only  one  of  the  laboring  class 
and  uneducated  as  most  over  the  ultimate  object  of  my 
labors — in  other  words,  never  having  glimpsed  the 
word-map  of  that  crypt,  I  can't  be  of  much  mental 
assistance." 

"Oh,  I  shouldn't  mind  telling  you  the  lines  if  I  only 
could  remember  them,"  Jane  conceded.  "One  distinctly 
says  to  dig  near  the  'whisper  of  poplars  four.'  Con- 
found grandfathers  and  their  mysterious  ways!  De- 
spite your  willingness  and  energy,  Mr.  Pape " 

"Peter,  if  you  please,  Jane." 

"Peter,  we  shall  have  to  give  it  up.  If  you'll  smooth 
back  the  earth  you've  disturbed,  I'll  take  off  my  two 
score  years  and  ten." 

"You  mean  to  retire  my  little  old  lady  of  the  park?" 

"Musts  I^m  due  to  return  to  Aunt  Helene's  to-night 
from  my — my  visit.  I  have  on  my  gray  suit  under  this 


POPLARS  FOUR  185 

loose  old  black  thing  and  a  hat  in  my  bag.  If  you'll 
escort  me  to  the  house,  I'll  be  that  much  more  obliged." 

Tugging  at  the  strings  of  the  poke  bonnet,  she 
stepped  toward  the  cover  of  a  nearby  black  haw  whose 
flat-topped,  branch-end  clusters  of  bloom  gleamed  like 
phosphorus  over  a  dark  sea.  He  turned  back  to  his 
task  with  his  consistent  superiority  to  intelligent  in- 
quiry. Muscularly,  at  least,  he  had  earned  her  confi- 
dence. So  far  free  from  interruption  more  staying  than 
a  chance  glance  or  careless  comment,  they  seemed 
about  to  end  an  evening  successful  in  its  unsuccess, 
when  there  sounded  a  verbal  assault. 

"You're  under  arrest — the  both  of  yous — and  caught 
with  the  goods,  at  that!" 

To  Pape's  ears  the  Irish  accent  had  a  familiar  sound. 
Straightening  to  confront  the  two  uniformed  figures 
now  materializing  from  the  dusk  and  the  hillock's 
crest,  he  executed  a  signal  which  he  hoped  would  be 
understood  by  his  companion  as  a  suggestion  that  she 
"slide  out" — leave  him  to  wriggle  from  the  clutch  of 
the  law  as  best  he  might. 

"Arrest?  And  for  what,  if  you  have  time  to  swap 
me  word  for  word  ?"  he  put  demand. 

"For  the  messing  up  and  maltreating  of  Central  Park 
in  violation  of  enough  statutes  to  hang  and  then  jail 
you  for  a  year.  Don't  bother  denying  or  it'll  be  used 
again  you.  We  been  watching  a  whole  half  hour. 
You  haven't  a  chance  at  a  get-away,  so  come  along 
nice  and  companionable." 

The  last  admonition  was  shared  with  the  bent  old 
lady,  who  was  too  dim-sighted,  evidently,  to  have  seen 


i86  LONESOME  TOWN 

her  laborer's  telepogram  and  now  appeared  from 
around  the  misnamed  white-blooming  black  haw. 

"We  wouldn't  like  to  be  rough  with  a  lady." 

The  suggestive  warning  came  from  the  second  of- 
ficer. At  his  voice,  Pape  sprang  forward  and  peered 
into  two  familiar  faces — into  the  chiseled  smile  of 
'Donis  Moore  and  the  fat  surprise  of  the  "sparrow 
cop,"  Pudge  O'Shay.  He  couldn't  decide  at  the  mo- 
ment whether  to  be  sorry  or  hopeful  that  these  two 
friendly  enemies  should  be  the  ones  again  to  catch  him 
at  misdemeanor  within  the  sacred  oblong  of  the  park. 

Jane  didn't  like,  any  more  than  they,  that  they  should 
be  "rough"  with  her,  to  judge  by  the  readiness  with 
whidi  she  gave  up  the  possibility  of  escape  and  ranged 
alongside  the  Westerner,  quite  a  bit  less  humped  and 
helpless  looking,  however,  than  in  her  approach. 

"I'll  say  this  is  a  pleasure — to  be  pinched  by  the  only 
two  friends  I've  got  on  the  Force,"  offered  Pape  with 
his  hand.  "How  are  you  to-night,  'Donis  Moore? 
O'Shay,  greetings!" 

"No  shaking  with  prisoners !"  The  gruffness  of  the 
foot  policeman  was  remindful  of  that  previous  meet- 
ing in  which  his  whistle  had  been  mistaken  for  a  quail's. 

Adonis  ignored  proprieties  and  gripped  the  prof- 
fered hand. 

"What  you  up  to  now,  Montana — unhorsed  and 
scratching  up  our  front  yard?" 

"I'm  a-digging,"  Pape  returned. 

"A-digging  for  what?" 

Jane  supplied:  "For  an  herb  called  Root-of-Evil." 

"I    see.      Herb-roots    for    mother,    eh?"      Moore 


POPLARS  FOUR  187 

squinted  a  confidential  wink  toward  the  Westerner. 
"If  you'd  taken  my  advice,  you'd  be  throwing  some- 
thing better  than  dirt  around  for  some  one  younger 
and " 

"But  I  did  take  your  advice.  This  is  what  it  led 
me  to." 

"Not  in  them  clothes,  you  didn't.  Why  don't  you 
hire  out  to  the  Sewer  Department,  if  excavating's  your 
line  ?  Sorry,  but  you  and  mother  is  in  Dutch  with  us." 

There  came  a  growl  from  Pudge.  "Not  Dutch — 
German,  and  with  more  than  us.  Report  of  your  doin's 
was  'phoned  the  station.  They  sent  me  out  to  round 
you  up.  I  happened  on  me  handsome  friend  here  off- 
duty  and  brought  him  along  for  good  measure.  I 
was  minded  to  leave  you  go  that  other  time,  you  cheer- 
ful lunatic.  But  now  I'm  a-going  to  take  you  in. 
Watch  'em,  'Donis,  whilst  I  go  ring  for  the  wagon." 

At  this  mention  of  the  auto-patrol  vehicle,  behind 
the  gratings  of  which  the  lawless  and  unfortunate  are 
exhibited,  like  caged  wildlings,  through  the  city  streets, 
Jane  stepped  toward  Pape.  He  felt  her  hand  steal  into 
the  crook  of  his  elbow,  as  if  for  protection  from  such 
a  disgrace.  Although  personally  he  had  no  objection 
to  wagoning  across  the  park  to  the  Arsenal,  he  vibrated 
to  her  mute  appeal. 

"As  a  favor,  Moore,  would  you  mind  walking  us  to 
your  calaboose?"  he  asked.  "I  give  you  my  cross-my- 
heart-and-hope  that  we'll  not  try  to  get  away.  Don't 
refuse  on  mother's  account.  She's  mighty  spry  on  her 
feet." 

Pudge  O'Shay  continued  to  grumble.    Being  a  spar- 


i88  LONESOME  TOWN 

row  cop  was  no  job  for  a  flat-foot,  especially  a  fat  one, 
he  declared.  He  was  tired  and  sorry  for  himself  out 
loud.  After  a  small  controversy,  however,  he  withdrew 
his  objection  to  the  stroll,  if  not  taken  at  speed. 

The  procession  started  along  No.  i  Traverse,  the 
shortest  route  to  the  Arsenal.  The  arresting  officer 
led.  The  prime  culprit,  his  young-old  accomplice  cling- 
ing to  his  arm,  followed.  The  dismounted  officer 
brought  up  as  rear  guard. 

"Got  a  permit  for  your  automatic?"  Pape  was  able 
to  ask  Jane  in  a  murmur  well  below  the  scrunch  of  feet. 

"No.    But  I've  got  the  automatic  with  me." 

"Slip  it  to  me!" 

He  did  not  explain  the  request.  Whether  he  meant 
to  force  a  gun-point  escape  and  needed  her  pistol  to 
supplement  his  own  against  their  two  captors  or 
whether  he  feared  some  such  desperate  initiative  on  her 
part,  he  left  her  to  wonder.  Watching  their  chance,  he 
whispered  "Now!"  Next  second  he  had  safe  inside 
his  own  coat  pocket  that  very  small,  very  black  and 
very  competent  looking  something  with  which  she  had 
commanded  him  in  vain  earlier  in  the  day. 

"Just  try  to  trust  me,  Jane,"  was  his  response  to 
the  unquestioning  obedience  which  had  produced  it 
from  the  blouse  beneath  her  old-lady  black. 

"To  try  to  trust  you  is  getting  easier,  Peter." 

The  guarded  admission  sounded  sweeter  than  the 
rhododendrons  smelled.  He  felt  happier  going  to  jail 
with  Jane  than  ever  in  his  life  before;  was  luxuriating 
in  sentimentality  when  a  roar  like  that  of  flaunted  Fate 
lacerated  the  air.  Pape  started  and  stared  about;  saw 


POPLARS  FOUR  189 

that  they  were  nearing  Fifth  Avenue  and  the  menagerie 
that  flanks  the  Arsenal ;  assumed  that  some  monarch  of 
the  wild  caged  there  had  but  vented  his  heart.  A  calm- 
ing hand  he  placed  over  the  girl's  two  which  had 
gripped  his  arm. 

"Just  a  moth-eaten  old  lion  dreaming  of  his  native 
jungle  and  talking  in  his  sleep." 

"But  you  don't  understand  what  it  might  mean,  that 
Nubian  roar.  It  may  be  another  clew  to  point  the  loca- 
tion of — of  what  grandfather  buried  in  the  park,  you 
know." 

Through  the  gloom  he  stared  down  into  the  gloomier 
scoop  of  her  bonnet. 

"Say,"  he  enquired,  mildly  as  he  could,  "you  ain't 
going  to  ask  me  next  to  play  Daniel  and  to  dig  in  that 
lion's  den?" 

"Hush.  Don't  make  fun.  This  is  very  important. 
If  we  can  find  four  poplars  over  on  this  side  of  the 
park,  within  earshot  of  the  menagerie  lions —  The  first 
crypt  verse  starts  off  like  this: 

"'List  to  the  Nubian  roar 

And  whisper  of  poplars  four.' " 

"I  wish  I  could  remember  more  accurately!  It 
rhymes  about  bed-rock  and  crock,  height  and  might 
and  fight,  then  trails  off  into  figures.  But  I  am  certain 
about  those  first  two  lines.  Maybe  we're  getting  close. 
With  that  Nubian  roar  as  a  center,  let's  walk  round 
and  round,  in  widening  circles,  until  we  list  to  the  whis- 
per of  poplars  four." 


igo  LONESOME  TOWN 

Pape's  perplexity  had  not  been  eased  by  his  steady 
stare  into  the  poke. 

"Very  nice,"  he  said,  "that  stroll  round  and  round, 
provided  we  don't  go  too  fast  and  get  dizzy.  But  we 
can't  start  at  the  present  moment." 

"Why  not?" — she,  this  time  impatiently. 

"You  forget,  my  dear  young  lady,  that  we  are  ar- 
rested." 

That  was  true.  They  were — and  before  the  door 
of  their  jail. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

TOO   READY   RESCUE 

BEFORE  the  desk  sergeant  of  a  metropolitan  po- 
lice station  friendship  usually  ceases.  It  did  to- 
night in  the  Arsenal,  otherwise  the  33rd  Precinct. 
By  not  so  much  as  the  ghost  of  a  grin  could  the  be- 
mustached  official  in  a  uniform  striped  by  decades  of 
service  have  detected  even  a  speaking  acquaintance  be- 
tween captors  and  prisoners. 

The  "case"  was  Pudge  O'Shay's  and  he  made  the 
arraignment,  Moore  having  subsided  into  a  wooden 
arm-chair  tilted  against  the  wall. 

"These  are  the  grub  worms  that  the  'phone  message 
was  about,"  announced  the  sparrow  cop. 

"Mind  telling  me  who  sent  in  that  get-your-gun 
alarm?"  Pape  asked  with  a  naivete  that  masked  the 
effrontery  of  his  request. 

The  sergeant  stared  at  him  in  amazement.  "None 
of  your  business,  you  human  mole." 

"Then  I'll  tell  you,"  was  his  easy-manner  counter. 
"A  sharp-faced  little  crook  named  Swinton  Welch." 

"Easy  there  with  the  hard  names,  young  fellow! 
Swin  Welch  is  a  frind  of  mine  and  no  person's  going 
to  call  him  a  crook  to  my  face,  much  less  a  prisoner." 

"Thought  so,"  said  Pape  with  a  grin.  "If  he  ain't 
a  crook,  how  about  the  folks  he's  working  for?" 

191 


192  LONESOME  TOWN 

Ignoring  him,  the  sergeant  opened  the  blotter. 

"Name?" 

"Peter  Stansbury " 

"Never  heard  about  a  little  rule  of  ladies  first,  I 
reckon,"  interrupted  the  officer.  "If  the  ship  was  sink- 
ing you'd  make  the  first  boat,  I  bet.  Answer  up, 
mother." 

For  the  first  time  the  poke-bonneted  head  of  the  less 
aggressive  prisoner  lifted  sufficiently  to  show  the  face 
within. 

"Well,  I'll  be " 

He  was — struck  dumb,  if  that  was  what  he  had  been 
about  to  say.  Next  minute,  however,  he  must  have 
remembered  that  sergeants  are  supposed  to  be  superior 
to  shock.  At  any  rate,  he  began  the  routine  questions. 

The  red,  soft-curved  lips  of  youth  answered  readily 
from  the  shadow  of  the  antiquated  headgear.  Even 
"How  old  are  you?"  had  no  terrors  for  one  who  had 
voted  at  the  last  election.  Her  "more  than  twenty-one" 
suggested  the  folly  of  pressing  the  point. 

"Are  you  armed?"  asked  the  officer  in  charge  when 
the  skeleton  biography  was  completed. 

Jane's  startled  glance  at  Pape  told  him  at  least  that 
now  she  understood  the  commandeering  of  her  auto- 
matic— that  some  penalty  was  imposed  for  the  bearing 
of  weapons  without  permit.  With  a  word  and  wag  of 
chin  she  replied  in  the  negative. 

"Not  having  a  matron  here  to  search  you,  I'll  have 
to  take  your  say-so."  The  sergeant,  after  a  meditative 
tug  at  his  gray  mustache,  waved  her  back. 

Pape  was  pedigreed  with  scant  ceremony  and  his  an- 


TOO  READY  RESCUE  193 

swers  recorded  as  he  gave  them,  even  to  "Hotel  Astor, 
residence." 

"Frisk  him,  Pudge !"  was  the  concluding  order. 

Because  Jane's  automatic  was  first  found  and  placed 
upon  the  desk  the  more  personal  "hardware,"  a  45 
Colt  snugly  fitted  into  its  arm-pit  holster,  was  almost 
overlooked.  The  sparrow  cop's  triumph  on  drawing  it 
forth  was  weighty  as  his  figure. 

"You  go  right  well  heeled  for  a  guest  of  the  hoity- 
toity,"  remarked  the  sergeant,  also  pleasurably  ex- 
cited. "We'll  just  book  you  for  a  double  felony  under 
the  Sullivan  law." 

At  the  threat,  "mother"  took  a  step  toward  her 
companion,  evidently  appreciating  that  this  last  charge 
was  due  to  the  service  rendered  in  fore-disarming  with- 
out fore-warning  her.  She  looked  ready  to  confess 
her  ownership  of  the  black  gun,  as  she  was  trying  to 
get  the  sergeant's  attention  around  the  interposed  bulk 
of  Pudge  O'Shay.  But  she  paused  when  she  saw  Pape 
hand  a  yellow  pig-skin  card-case  to  the  officer. 

"Before  you  'phone  your  friend  Welch  the  glad  news 
that  you've  got  a  double-barreled  Sullivan  on  me,"  he 
requested,  "calm  yourself  by  a  look  at  this." 

The  sergeant  obliged;  aloud  read  sketchily  from  the 
filled-in  courtesy  card  signed  by  his  chief,  the  com- 
missioner of  police. 

"Peter  S.  Pape,  deputy  sheriff,  Snowshoe  County, 
Montana.  Permitted  to  carry  arms  while  in  pursuit 
of  fugitives  from  justice." 

His  pleased  expression  faded;  rather,  appeared  to 
pass  from  his  face  to  that  of  the  prisoner.  And  in- 


I94  LONESOME  TOWN 

deed,  Pape  felt  that  he  had  reason  to  be  pleased.  Only 
that  week,  in  preparation  for  any  trail' s-end  contre- 
temps, he  had  taken  the  precaution  of  presenting  at 
Police  Headquarters  his  credentials  from  the  home 
county  sheriff.  Sooner  than  expected,  if  somewhat 
otherwise,  preparedness  had  won. 

"You're  not  going  to  tell  me  you  thought  them  fugi- 
tives was  buried  on  the  far  side  of  the  park  ?"  the  ser- 
geant grumbled. 

"Wish  they  were.  Say,  if  you  think  there's  any 
chance  of  your  friend  Welch  dropping  in  for  a  social 
call,  I'd  like  to  swap  a  few  words  with  him." 

"Leave  up  on  Swin  Welch!  He's  harmless — ain't 
been  west  of  Weehawken  in  his  life.  Where  does  this 
old — that  is  to  say,  young  lady  come  in  ?" 

"She  came  in  merely  as  a  spectator  to  cheer  me 
whilst  I  did  my  digging  exercise.  You  can  have  noth- 
ing against  her." 

Obviously  the  sergeant  was  troubled. 

"Wish  the  lieutenant  was  here,"  he  was  heard  to 
mutter. 

Adonis  Moore  made  his  way  to  the  desk.  "The 
sheriff  is  giving  you  the  right  dope,  serg.  All  the 
while  Pudge  and  I  was  watching,  his  lady  friend  didn't 
move  as  much  as  a  clod." 

"She  wouldn't  need  to  move  more'n  a  clod  if  she'd 
take  that  bonnet  off  her  head,"  his  superior  com- 
mented. "We  can't  let  her  out  now.  She's  already 
booked.  But  likely  she'll  make  short  shrift  of  the  mag- 
istrate in  the  morning.  The  sheriff  I've  gotta  hold  on 
the  park  despoliation  charge.  There  ain't  nothing  in 


TOO  READY  RESCUE  195 

his  card  allowing  for  that.  He's  entitled  to  have  his 
guns  back,  but " 

"But  how  about  a  thousand  dollars  cash  bail  for  the 
two  of  us  on  the  misdemeanor?"  Pape  stepped  forward 
to  propose,  his  hand  suggestively  seeking  the  inner 
pocket  of  his  corduroy  coat.  "The  price  is  a  bit  high 
just  for  the  practice  of  my  daily  physical  culture,  still 
I'll  pay." 

His  confident  expression  faded  the  next  moment 
when  his  hand  came  out  empty  of  his  well-stocked 
wallet.  In  changing  to  rough-and-readies,  he  had  for- 
gotten to  transfer  from  his  tweeds  the  price  of  adven- 
ture in  a  great  city.  Except  for  several  crumpled  small 
bills  and  certain  loose  change  in  his  trouser  pocket,  he 
was  without  financial  resource.  His  attempt  at  a  hope- 
ful glance  in  Jane's  direction  weakened  under  the 
thought  that,  even  were  she  not  a  self -declared  poor 
relation,  she  wouldn't  be  carrying  ten  century  notes  on 
her  person. 

"I've  got  telephone  and  war-tax  money,  anyhow,"  he 
observed  cheerfully.  "Lead  me  to  a  booth  and  I'll  have 
Mr.  Astor  chip  in  the  ante.  Sorry  on  mother's  ac- 
count about  the  delay.  She  ain't  used  to  late  hours  in 
police  stations." 

"It  might  take  quite  a  while  to  convince  the  hotel 
that  you  are  you,"  Jane  demurred. 

"As  it  did  you,  Jane?" 

She  ignored  his  sotto  voce  aside.  "Why  not  let  me 
send  for  collateral,  Mr.  Sergeant?  I  live  just  across 
the  avenue." 

"Oh,  you  do,  eh?" 


196  LONESOME  TOWN 

"That  is,  my  aunt  does.  They  wouldn't  have  a  thou- 
sand dollars  in  the  house,  but  you'd  take  jewelry, 
wouldn't  you,  if  it  was  worth  several  times  the 
amount?" 

Assuming  his  consent  and  thanking  him  with  a  ra- 
diant smile,  she  motioned  Adonis  Moore  to  one  side 
and  advised  with  him  a  moment  in  an  undertone. 

"Be  sure  to  ask  for  Miss  Sturgis,  not  Mrs."  Her 
final  direction  held  over  Pape's  protest.  "Under  no 
circumstance  alarm  my  aunt.  And  don't  say  who  is  in 
trouble — just  that  a  good  friend  of  hers  needs  jewelry 
bail.  She'll  be  thrilled  by  the  mystery.  She'll 
manage." 

The  ensuing  wait  seemed  to  try  the  chief  culprit  more 
than  his  young-old  lady  "friend."  While  she  sat  at 
comparative  ease  in  the  absent  lieutenant's  desk  chair 
behind  the  railing,  he  paced  outside.  His  interest  in 
the  sergeant  had  lapsed  on  that  worthy's  refusal  to 
discuss  Swinton  Welch's  connection  with  the  case  and 
he  leant  only  half  an  ear  to  the  preferred  discussion  of 
the  latest  crime  wave  which  had  dashed  up  to  park 
shores  from  the  ocean  of  post-war  inactivity. 

The  entrance  of  Irene  Sturgis  was  "staged" — antici- 
pated, timed,  well-lit.  After  her  first  burst  into  the 
room,  she  stopped  short  beneath  the  electric  glare,  un- 
believably lovely  in  a  blush-pink  evening  wrap  over  a 
gown  of  vari-tinted  tulle.  Her  back-thrown  curls,  her 
heightened  color,  her  parted  lips  and  wide  eyes — all 
proclaimed  her  utter  astonishment  at  the  scene  before 
her.  Her  surveying  glance  began  with  the  "costumed" 
Westerner  standing  before  the  high  oaken  desk  of  ar- 


TOO  READY  RESCUE  197 

raignment,  swept  to  the  bent  old  lady  in  black,  on  to  the 
gray-mustached  sergeant  and  the  pompous  arresting 
officer,  then  back  to  its  starting  point. 

"Oh,  don't  you  look  dar-rling  in  those  clothes?"  she 
exclaimed  on  her  way  to  Pape,  "I  never  saw  anything 
quite  so  heroic.  I  didn't  dream,  Why-Not,  that  you 
were  the  'good  friend'  in  need  of  bail.  I  am  just  too 
happy  about  it  for  anything— oh,  not  that  you  are  in 
trouble,  of  course,  but  that  you'd  send  for  me.  I've 
always  been  crazy  to  see  the  inside  of  this  Arsenal. 
Police  courts  and  jails  and  insane  asylums  just  fasci- 
nate me.  Don't  they  you— or  do  they  ?  Maybe  I  have 
a  morbid  tendency,  but  I  enjoy  it.  It's  always  the 
unexpected  that  really  happens,  isn't  it?  I  wasn't  in 
an  expecting  or  hoping  mood  at  all  to-night  and  here 
you,  of  all  people,  go  and  get  yourself  arrested  and  send 
for  me  and — and  everything!  I  forgive  you  for  the 
past  and  love  you  all  the  more  in  trouble.  But  that's 
as  it  should  be,  isn't  it?  How  could  any  true  woman 
resist  you  in  those  clothes  and  in  this " 

Of  necessity  she  paused  for  breath — paused  ver- 
bally, not  materially.  Reaching  Pape,  she  lifted  a  look 
of  utter  adoration  that  would  have  made  almost  any 
man's  heart  do  an  Immerman  flop— lifted  also  two  bare, 
soft-curved,  elbow-dinted  arms  about  his  neck. 

"I  didn't  mean  a  word  of  what  I  said  this  morning 
at  the  end  of  our  ride,"  she  confessed  in  an  aside  voiced 
a  la  the  histrionics  of  yesteryear.  "Of  course  I 
couldn't  seriously  call  you  contemptible,  when  my 
deeper  nature  knows  there's  a  noble  reason  back  of  all 
that  you  do.  You'll  forget  it  except  as  a  lover's  quar- 


198  LONESOME  TOWN 

rel,  won't  you,  dar-rling?  It  is  in  need  and  affliction, 
don't  you  think,  that  one's  real  feelings  should  come 
to  the  surface?  I'm  not  one  bit  ashamed  to  tell  you 
that  I've  been  perfectly  miserable.  Haven't  you  been, 
too,  Why-Not?" 

"I  ain't  just  comfortable,"  he  admitted,  untieing  the 
lover's  knot  at  the  back  of  his  neck. 

"Mother,"  her  blue  eyes  on  the  red  flame  of  his 
countenance,  looked  as  though  she  believed  him,  but  as 
though  she  didn't  feel  "just  comfortable"  either.  In 
truth,  her  heart,  too,  had  done  some  sort  of  a  flop,  then 
had  dropped  as  if  dead.  She  shrank  further  back  into 
her  rusty  mourning  garb,  but  did  not  miss  a  movement 
of  the  ttvo  baby-soft  hands  of  her  cousin,  the  one  hold- 
ing the  Westerner's  arm,  the  other  stroking  the  same 
member  as  though  to  limber  up  its  strain. 

"What  dire  deed  have  you  done,  dar-rling?"  The 
girl's  voice  was  intense  from  the  thrill  of  her  rescue 
role.  "Tell  Rene  all — at  least  all.  It  is  such  a  revela- 
tion that  you  should  appeal  to  me  first  in  trouble.  You 
always  will,  won't  you — or  will  you?  But  then,  of 
course  you  will." 

With  the  eyes  of  three  of  the  police  upon  him,  Pape's 
situation  would  have  been  trying  enough.  Faced  also 
by  the  amaze  which  he  could  better  imagine  than  see 
in  the  shadow  of  that  bonnet-brim,  he  felt  desperate. 
Truly,  Jane's  wish  to  avoid  alarming  her  aunt  had 
brought  real  trouble  upon  him — more  real  than  any 
he  could  explain  to  this  child  vampire. 

"There  ain't  much  to  tell,  Miss  Sturgis,"  he  began. 
"Not  anything  serious  enough  to " 


TOO  READY  RESCUE  199 

"Miss  Sturgis!"  she  interrupted  reproachfully. 
"After  I've  rifled  my  jewel  box  to  make  up  the  hush 
money  and  after  all  that's  been  between  us!  Are  you 
ashamed  of  the  deeper  feeling  you  showed  this  morn- 
ing on  our  ride?  If  you  don't  call  me  Irene  instantly, 
I'll  let  them  lock  you  up  in  a  deep,  dark,  dank  dungeon 
and  keep  you  there  until  you  do." 

With  a  laugh  of  tender  cruelty,  she  tripped  toward 
the  desk  in  her  tip-tilted  slippers ;  there  laid  upon  its  flat 
top  a  limp,  beaded  bag  which  had  been  swinging  from 
her  arm. 

"You  look  so  kind,  Mr.  Chief,  I  don't  see  how  you 
can  be  so  mean,"  she  coaxed  him.  "You  really  didn't 
know  you  were  capturing  and  torturing  an  innocent 
man,  I  feel  sure.  But  you'll  right  the  wrong  now, 
won't  you,  for  my  sake  if  not  for  his?  See  what  I've 
brought  to  assure  you  of  his  worth." 

The  sergeant  opened  the  bag,  dumped  its  contents 
upon  the  desk  before  him  and  took  up  a  piece  of  jewelry 
for  examination. 

"The  emerald  drop  on  that  fillet  is  a  princely  ransom 
in  itself,"  Irene  assured  him.  "But  I  brought  my 
mother's  black  pearls  for  good  measure.  Just  look  at 
them — the  platinum  settings  alone  are  more  than  the 
thousand  dollars'  worth  that  the  nice-looking  police- 
man said  you  required!" 

Perhaps  the  sergeant  found  her  pleading  eyes  and 
smile  more  inducing  bail  than  the  valuables  offered. 
But  he  began  a  perfunctory  examination  of  them.  The 
while,  the  girl's  gaze  encompassed  the  bent,  black  figure 


200  LONESOME  TOWN 

inside  the  rail.  With  an  unsmothered  exclamation,  she 
started  forward,  then  stopped  short. 

"Jane — not  really  f"  she  cried.  "Did  he  send  for 
you,  too?  And  how  did  you  happen — to  come — in  cos- 
tume? I  think  when  you  were  getting  up  this  party 
you  ntight  have  invited  me.  You  know  I  dote  on 
fancy-dress  almost  as  much  as  police  courts." 

Jane  came  slowly  through  the  gate  and  straightened 
before  her  young  relative. 

"The  'party'  was  quite  impromptu,"  she  said,  push- 
ing back  her  bonnet  to  show  a  smile  more  grave  than 
gay.  "It  was  I  who  sent  for  you,  not  Mr.  Pape.  Part 
of  the  bail  is  for  me.  You  see,  dear,  I  am  arrested, 
too." 

"Arrested — you?  I  guess  I  don't  understand.  How 
does  it  come  that  you  are  here  when  you're  visiting  the 
Giffords  in  Southampton?  And  how  in  the  world  did 
you  and  Why-Not —  You  two  were  hauled  up — 
together?" 

Her  final  utterance  was  in  a  tone  fictionally  describ- 
able  as  "tinged  by  the  bitterness  of  despair." 

As  Jane  seemed  disinclined  to  explain,  Pape  tried  to 
ease  the  moment.  "We  happened  to  meet  near  the 
Maine  Monument.  I  was  out  for — for  exercise,  you 
see.  Your  cousin  here  showed  me  some  new  ways  of 
getting  the  same." 

"Sure,  blame  it  on  her,  Adam,"  Pudge  O'Shay  made 
grumpy  interposition.  "Remember,  though,  that  this 
ain't  the  first  evening  I've  caught  you  trying  new  ways 
of  exercising  in  the  park." 


TOO  READY  RESCUE  201 

Jane  turned  toward  the  sergeant.  "Can't  we  settle 
about  the  bail  and  be  off,  sir  ?" 

He  coughed,  bent  for  a  moment's  scribbling;  made 
answer  direct  to  Irene. 

"Here's  a  receipt  for  your  jewelry,  miss.  I'll  take 
a  chance  on  its  value.  While  I  don't  congratulate  any- 
body on  getting  pinched,  I'm  glad  that  your  friends,  if 
they  must  cut  capers,  have  you  to  help  them  out. 
Thank  you  for  breezing  into  this  gloomy  old  place." 

"Good  for  you,  you  nice  old  barking  dog  that  don't 
bite!"  enthused  the  girl.  "I  thought  you  weren't  half 
as  cross  as  you  look.  I  don't  know  what  my  friends 
have  done  to  get  the  law  down  on  them,  but  I  do  be- 
lieve in  their  innocence  of  motive  and  so  may  you. 
My  cousin  is  the  stormy  petrel  sort,  with  the  best  inten- 
tions in  the  world,  but  always  getting  herself  and  others 
into  trouble.  And  Why-Not  Pape —  He's  just  from 
the  West,  you  know,  and  I  haven't  had  time  yet  to 
teach  him  how  to  behave  in  a  city.  In  a  way  you  have 
done  me  a  favor  in  pinching  them,  as  you  so  cleverly 
put  it.  It  is  something  for  a  true  woman  to  be  given 
the  opportunity  to  show  by  her  actions  just  how 
much  she —  You  get  what  I  mean,  don't  you — or 
do  you?" 

Others  in  the  room  got  it  rather  more  forcefully 
than  he.  Pape  suppressed  a  groan  at  the  flush  which 
had  blotted  the  pallor  of  Jane's  face.  Fast  though  he 
had  worked,  this  infant  fiend  worked  faster.  Hard 
though  he  had  tried,  she  had  upset  all  his  gains  with  a 
laugh  and  a  sigh.  Desperate  though  he  felt  to  protest 
her  claim  on  him,  the  fact  that  she  claimed  him  dis- 


202  LONESOME  TOWN 

counted  any  protestation  he  might  make.  His  West 
had  schooled  him  in  deeds,  not  words.  By  deeds  he 
would — he  must  prove  the  truth. 

Characteristically  Irene  rewarded  Adonis  Moore. 
He  was  a  "dear"  of  a  horse  cop  and  wore  his  uniform 
just  "scrumptiously."  He  must  keep  an  eye  out  for 
her  when  next  she  rode  over  park  bridle-paths.  She 
thanked  him  for  her  friends,  therefore  for  her. 
It  was  these  acts  of  simple  human  kindness  that 
made  the  world  worth  while.  Didn't  he  agree  with 
her — or  did  he?  She  only  hoped  that  others  were  as 
appreciative  of  her  efforts  as  was  she  of  his. 

Even  for  Pudge  O'Shay,  whose  case  it  was,  she  had 
a  cordial  au  revoir.  She  had  noticed  from  first  glance 
that  he  looked  worried.  But  he  mustn't  worry,  not 
one  tiny  bit.  Worry  made  one  thin  and  he  had  such 
an  imposing  appearance — so  official — just  as  he  was. 
He  must  rely  on  her.  Surely  he  could — or  couldn't  he? 
She  had  taken  the  case  in  hand  now  and  would  return 
the  two  out-on-bails  to  court  if  she  had  to  carry  them. 
He  was  merely  loaning  them  to  her  over  night. 
Wouldn't  he  try  to  remember  that? 

"Good-night,  you  nice  persons,  one  and  all !" 

She  shook  hands  with  the  uniformed  three  before 
attaching  herself,  dangle-wise,  to  Pape's  weak  right 
arm. 

"Come  along,  crooks,"  she  advised  the  "pinched" 
pair  cheerfully.  "This  paper  declares  me  your  cus- 
todian— says  it  will  cost  me  the  family  jools  not  to  pro- 
duce you  in  court  at  ten  of  to-morrow  morn.  No 
matter  how  guilty  you  be  or  be  not,  I  shall  produce!" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TEN  OF  TO-MORROW  MORN 

NOT  until  the  police  court  arraignment,  held 
shortly  after  the  prescribed  hour  next  morning, 
had  Peter  Pape  been  impressed  by  the  personality  and 
power  of  ex-Judge  Samuel  Allen.  Pinkish  were  the 
little  jurist's  cheeks,  modest  his  mustaches  and  by  no 
means  commanding  his  chubby,  under-height  figure. 
Yet  at  that  bar  of  "justice"  in  the  magistrate's  court, 
he  had  proved  a  powerful  ally. 

Mrs.  Sturgis'  first  act  after  Irene's  return  home  with 
her  out-on-bails  the  evening  before  had  been  to  send 
for  the  judge.  He  had  pointed  that  the  truth  must  not 
come  out  in  open  court — that  the  romance  of  a  new 
search  for  Granddad  Lauderdale's  mysterious  legacy 
would  be  seized  upon  by  reporters  and  given  undesir- 
able newspaper  publicity.  Personally,  he  appeared  more 
amused  by  the  escapade  than  shocked,  as  was  the  ma- 
tron, and  had  refused  to  take  it  seriously  for  a  moment. 
He  had  undertaken  to  fix  things  along  the  lines  of 
"silence,  secrecy  and  suppression"  if  the  two  culprits 
would  promise  to  go  and  sin  no  more. 

And  with  a  neatness  and  dispatch  that  made  his  non- 
descript looks  and  mild  manner  seem  a  disguise,  he  had 
made  good  his  promise.  The  complicity  of  Miss  Jane 
Lauderdale  had  been  dismissed  in  a  whisper  and  a 

203 


204  LONESOME  TOWN 

wave  of  the  hand.  Caught  at  digging  in  sacred  ground 
on  a  bet,  her  companion's  case  was  only  one  more  illus- 
tration of  the  efficiency  of  the  park  police.  This  plea, 
to  the  utter  astonishment  of  Peter  Pape,  had  been 
briefly  outlined  by  the  jurist  and  a  fine  of  ten  dollars 
set.  A  word  from  the  magistrate  had  persuaded  the 
press  representative  present  to  crumple  his  sheet  of 
notes  and  promise  not  even  a  brevity  of  a  case  which, 
less  expertly  suppressed,  would  have  been  worth  head- 
lines. By  the  magic  of  political  affiliations  between  at- 
torney and  magistrate,  Irene  was  returned  the  ransom 
jewelry  and  her  two  prisoners  were  freed. 

Not  until  the  chief  culprit  found  himself  standing 
alone  on  the  curb  before  the  antiquated  court-house  did 
he  appreciate  the  serious  consequences  to  himself  of  the 
contretemps.  The  two  girls,  with  whom  he  had  not 
accomplished  a  single  word  aside,  had  just  driven  off 
in  Judge  Allen's  soft-sirened  car.  He  had  not  been 
offered  a  lift,  not  even  by  Irene.  As  for  Jane,  she  had 
given  no  sign  of  recognizing  his  existence  beyond  her 
two  rather  abstracted  nods  of  "good-morning"  and 
"good-by."  Until  now  he  had  tried  to  ascribe  this 
manner  to  her  idea  of  propriety  in  court  proceedings, 
as  also  Irene's  mercifully  subdued  air.  That  both 
should  desert  him  the  moment  they  were  free  was 
enough  of  a  shock  to  hold  him  on  the  spot,  pondering. 
The  cut  had  been  unanimous,  as  though  foreplanned. 
So  smoothly  had  it  seemed  to  sever  all  connection  be- 
tween them  that  he  did  not  realize  it  until  staring  after 
the  numerals  on  the  tail-plate  o.f  the  automobile. 

She  had   "quit  hmf  cofd/^  his  self -selected  lady. 


TEN  OF  TO-MORROW  MORN          205 

True,  she  had  done  so  several  times  before.  But  it 
mattered  more  now.  He  had  declared  his  fealty;  to 
some  extent,  had  proved  it;  had  hoped  that  he  was 
gaining  in  her  esteem.  Now  he  was  dropped,  like  a 
superfluous  cat,  in  a  strange  alley.  He  felt  as  flattened- 
out  as  the  cement  of  the  pavement  on  which  he  stood. 
Into  it,  through  the  soles  of  his  boots,  his  heart  seemed 
to  sink  from  its  weight  .  .  .  down  .  .  .  down. 

But  as  his  heart  sank,  his  mind  rose  in  a  malediction 
strong  as  his  pulse  was  weak  : 

"To  hell  with  the  perquisites  of  our  young  ladies  of 
to-day !  Do  I  say  so — or  don't  I  ?" 

His  plans  for  the  morning,  which  had  included  a 
start  at  that  "round  and  round"  stroll  in  search  of  four 
poplars  within  earshot  of  the  park  menagerie,  were 
scrambled  as  had  been  his  breakfast  eggs.  Not  even 
the  shell  of  a  plan  was  left.  The  divine  triumvirate 
was  reduced  to  its  original  separateness — a  blind  father 
over  in  the  East  Side  yellow  brick,  a  daughter  luxuri- 
ously ensconced  on  the  avenue,  a  Western  stray-about- 
town,  lonely  and  alone. 

And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  he  could  not  see  just 
how  to  right  himself;  could  not  blame  Jane  any  more 
than  Irene  or  himself.  Loyalty  was  a  thing  to  live, 
not  to  talk  about.  After  his  statements  to  Jane,  both 
direct  and  through  her  father,  he  looked,  in  the  light 
of  cousinly  disclosures,  an  arrant  philanderer — the  sort 
of  man  who  was  willing,  in  Montana  sport  parlance, 
"to  play  both  ends  against  the  middle." 

The  tongue  of  the  bobbed-haired  youngling  had  run 
according  to  form.  Her  belief  in  her  own  desirability 


2o6  LONESOME  TOWN 

had  put  him  at  a  serious  disadvantage.  He  could  not 
follow  the  cousins,  demand  a  hearing  and  assert  un- 
manfully  that  he  didn't  love  the  one  who  said  he  did, 
but  did  love  her  who  now  believed  that  he  did  not. 

Just  as  a  peach  was  as  much  the  down  on  its  cheek 
as  the  pit,  the  response  he  craved  from  Jane  must  have 
a  delicate,  adhering  confidence  over  its  heart  and  soul. 
If  she  did  not  know  the  one-woman-ness  of  his  feel- 
ing for  her,  then  the  time  had  not  come  to  tell  her.  He 
wouldn't  have  wished  to  talk  her  into  caring  for  him, 
even  were  he  given  to  verbal  suasion.  Trust 
was  not  a  thing  to  be  added  afterward.  It  must  be 
component,  delicate,  adhering — part  of  the  peach.  She 
did — she  must  already  trust  him.  But  she  must  have 
her  own  time  for  realization. 

As  for  Irene,  he'd  have  to  boomerang  the  extrava- 
gant utterances  and  acts  of  that  perquisitory  young 
admirer  back  to  their  source  as  little  like  a  cad  as  pos- 
sible. He  felt  sure  she  would  not  have  seized  on  him 
had  she  known  the  havoc  she  wrought.  She  must  not 
be  unduly  humiliated. 

If  only  folks  were  wholly  good  or  wholly  bad,  there- 
fore deserving  of  absolute  punishment  or  absolute  re- 
ward as  in  the  movies,  life  and  its  living  would  be  less 
of  a  strain.  So  philosophized  Peter  Pape.  If,  for  in- 
stance, Jane  were  a  perfect  heroine,  she  would  have 
loved  and  trusted  him  at  first  sight,  as  he  had  her.  If 
he  were  a  reel  hero,  either  caveman  or  domesticated, 
he'd  have  conquered  her  by  brawn  or  brain  long  ere 
this  pitiable  pass.  Mills  Harford,  as  rival,  would  have 
been  ulteriorly  and  interiorly  bad,  rather  than  a  likeable, 


TEN  OF  TO-MORROW  MORN          207 

fine  chap  much  more  worthy  the  girl,  no  doubt,  than 
himself.  Judge  Allen,  as  builder  of  barriers  between 
them,  should  be  a  long-nosed,  hard-voiced,  scintillating 
personage,  instead  of  the  rosy,  round,  restrained  little 
man  he  was.  And  "the  young  lady  of  to-day" —  There 
would  be  needed  a  long  explanatory  sub-title  between 
a  close-up  of  that  guilelessly  guilty,  tender  torment  and 
one  of  her  prototype,  the  histrionic,  hectic  vamp  of 
yesteryear. 

Still  stationed  on  the  curb,  Pape  gained  strength 
from  these  theories  to  advance  into  consideration  of 
his  most  effective  and  immediate  course  toward  the  end 
of  his  present  adventure.  He  had  decided  that  he  must 
continue  his  attempt  to  serve  in  the  disintegrated  tri- 
umvirate, that  he  must  again  force  his  presence  upon 
Jane  if  she  did  not  send  for  him  soon,  that  he  must  fail 
absolutely  to  recognize  the  insidious  claims  of  Irene, 
when  he  became  conscious  of  the  purring  approach  of 
a  sport  car.  On  hearing  himself  hailed  by  name,  he 
looked  up  and  saw  that  the  man  behind  the  wheel  was 
Mills  Harford. 

"Have  they  come  or  gone?"  the  real-estater  asked. 

"Both."    Pape's  mind  still  was  somewhat  afield. 

"Just  my  luck  to  be  too  late.  Mrs.  Sturgis  might 
have  'phoned  me  sooner.  Seems  to  me  I  should  have 
been  sent  for  first,  whatever  the  scrape.  Tell  me,  she 
got  off  all  right — Miss  Lauderdale?" 

"Why  not?"  Pape  nodded,  his  mental  eye  upon  the 
good  and  bad  in  this  rival  to  whom  the  baby  vamp  in 
the  cast  had  erroneously  assigned  the  successful  suitor 
role.  "We  both  are  loose,"  he  added.  "She  got  off 


208  LONESOME  TOWN 

scot-free  and  I,  fortunately,  was  able  to  pay  my  fine. 
Mr.  Allen  fixed  everything.  He's  a  capable  somebody, 
the  judge,  a  valuable  acquaintance  for  anybody  re- 
stricted to  life  in  an  overgrown  town  like  N'  York. 
He  has  a  new  client  if  anything  else  happens  to  me." 

At  these  assorted  remarks  Harford's  manner 
changed.  The  concern  on  his  handsome  face  made  way 
for  a  positive  glare  as  he  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  car 
toward  his  informant. 

"Can't  say  I'm  greatly  concerned  in  what  may  or 
may  not  happen  to  you  in  the  near  or  far  future,  Pape, 
but  I'll  contribute  gratis  a  word  or  two  of  advice.  Re- 
member that  you  are  in  the  semi-civilization  of  N'York 
Town,  not  the  wild  and  woolly.  Be  a  bit  more  careful." 

"Ain't  used  to  being  careful  for  my  own  sake."  The 
Westerner  all  at  once  felt  inspired  that  the  occasion 
was  one  for  a  show  of  good-cheer.  "Like  as  not, 
though,  I'd  better  take  your  advices  to  heart,  especially 
as  they're  gratis,  for  the  sake  of  my  friends  and  play- 
mates." 

Harford  snapped  him  up.  "At  any  rate,  in  the  future 
don't  involve  women.  If  you  must  run  amuck,  run 
it  and  muck  it  alone.  If  you  make  any  more  disturb- 
ance around  Miss  Lauderdale,  you'll  hear  from  me." 

Now,  this  sounded  more  like  "legitimate"  than  the 
movies.  The  potential  villain's  sneer  and  tone  of 
superiority  brought  out  the  regular  impulses  of  a  hero 
like  a  rash  on  Pape.  Only  with  effort  did  he  guard  his 
tongue. 

"Wouldn't  take  any  bets  on  my  being  in  a  listening 
mood,  Harfy,"  he  made  remark. 


TEN  OF  TO-MORROW  MORN         209 

"You'll  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say,  I  guess,  mood 
or  no  mood,"  Harford  continued.  "Your  debut  into  a 
circle  where  you  never  can  belong  was  amusing  at  first. 
But  any  joke  may  be  overplayed.  This  one  is  getting 
too  tiresome  to  be  practical.  I've  tried  to  keep  to  my- 
self what  I  think  about  an  oil-stock  shark  like  you 
catapulting  himself  into  such  a  family  as  the  Sturgis', 
but  if  you  want  me  to  illustrate " 

He  had  slid  over  on  the  seat  from  behind  the  steer- 
ing wheel.  Now  he  half  rose,  his  hand  upon  the  latch 
of  the  car  door,  as  though  about  to  descend  to  the  pave- 
ment. But  he  did  not  turn  the  handle. 

With  synchronous  movements  Pape  stepped  to  the 
running  board,  clapped  two  heavy  hands  upon  the  real- 
estater's  immaculately  tailored  shoulders  and  sat  his 
would-be  social  mentor  down  upon  the  seat  with  what 
must  have  been  a  tooth -toddling  jar.  That  mention  of 
oil  stock  had  been  several  syllables  too  many  in  stric- 
tures to  which  he  was  not  accustomed. 

Only  Jane  and  Curtis  Lauderdale  had  direct  knowl- 
edge of  his  wrong-righting  mission  to  the  East  and 
they,  he  felt  certain,  had  not  spoken  with  Harford 
since  he  with  them.  The  question  was  pertinent  how 
this  handsome,  fiery-pated  young  metropolitan,  so 
frankly  and  unexpectedly  showing  himself  as  an  out- 
and-out  enemy,  had  happened  on  the  connection.  To 
wring  the  facts  out  of  him  then  and  there  would  have 
been  a  treat.  Yet  neither  the  time  nor  set  was  propitu- 
ous  for  measures  as  drastic  as  their  slump  to  type  in 
character  and  motivation  made  imminent. 

"Having  just  been  before  the  august  court,  I  ain't 


210  LONESOME  TOWN 

homesick  to  return,"  Pape  said,  easing,  but  not  fore-* 
going  his  shoulder  hold.  "So  if  you'll  just  postpone 
that  illustration  until  a  more  suitable  time  and  place 
for  me  to  illustrate  back  what  I  think  of  your  dam' 
impudence,  I  won't  get  hauled  in  again  and  you  hauled 
out  of  a  reg'lar  back-home  bashing  up." 

By  way  of  agreement,  Harford  threw  off  his  hold 
and  moved  across  the  seat.  That  he  made  no  further 
effort  to  leave  the  car  did  not  deceive  Pape  as  to  his 
courage  or  capacity.  His  coloring  bespoke  a  temper 
of  fierce  impulses  and  physically  he  looked  fit,  a  few 
pounds  heavy,  but  strong- framed  and  plastered  with 
muscles. 

Pape  dismissed  the  present  opportunity  by  stepping 
back  to  the  pavement.  "Lets  hope  our  trails  will  cross 
soon  in  a  get-together  place.  I'm  mighty  interested 
in  oil  stock  and  I've  got  to  get  exercise  somehow." 

"Where  did  the  others  go  from  here?"  Harford 
enquired,  with  an  abrupt  resumption  of  his  accustomed 
savoir-faire. 

"Heard  the  judge  say  'Home,  James'  to  his  chauf- 
feur"— Pape,  adaptably.  "I  wouldn't  have  been  here 
to  answer  your  questions  if  he  hadn't  plumb  forgot 
to  ask  me  to  climb  aboard." 

The  forward  movement  of  the  sport  car  made  safe 
Harford's  back-thrown  jibe: 

"He  didn't  forget,  Pape.  He  remembered  not  to 
ask  you  to  ride.  It's  been  a  generation  since  Judge 
Allen  has  appeared  in  police  court.  He's  through  with 
you,  as  are  the  rest  of  us." 

"Oh,  no,  he  ain't,"  the  ranchman  called  after  the 


TEN  OF  TO-MORROW  MORN         211 

car,  with  what  outward  cheer  he  could  exact  from  his 
inner  confidence.  "He's  only  begun  with  me — he  and 
the  rest  of  you." 

In  retrospect  the  maliciousness  of  the  rich  real- 
estater's  snub  gained  upon  him.  So  he  was  not  and 
never  could  be  of  their  sort — was  a  social  ineligible ! 

He  didn't  feel  that  way.  In  blood,  brain  and  brawA 
he  always  had  considered  himself  anybody's  equal. 
And  what  else  mattered  in  the  make-up  of  he-man? 
He  owed  it  to  the  expanses  from  which  he  had  come — 
limitless  space,  freedom  of  winds,  resource  to  feed 
the  world — to  show  Harfy,  the  Sturgises  and  even  the 
Lauderdales  just  what,  from  what  and  toward  what  he 
was  headed.  He  owed  it  to  the  graduate  school  of 
the  Great  West  to  prove  the  manliness  of  its  alumni. 
He  owed  it  to  all  the  past  Peter  Stansburys  and  Papes 
who  had  done  and  dared  to  demonstrate  that  the  last 
of  the  two  lines  had  inherited  some  degree  of  their 
courage,  good- faith  and  initiative.  Before  to-day  he 
had  been  asked  as  to  his  family  tree.  He  must  show 
these  Back  Easters  some  symbol  of  the  myriad  horse- 
power of  the  roof  of  the  continent,  a  share  in  which 
had  strengthened  him  to  defy  difficulty  and  command 
success.  Why  should  he  ?  For  certain  he  wouldn't  be 
Why-Not  Pape  if  he  let  them  twit  him  twice!  He'd 
show  them — by  some  sign,  he'd  show  them  that  he,  too, 
was  born  to  an  escutcheon  rampant ! 

As  he  started  toward  Lexington  Avenue  and  a  dis- 
engaged taxi,  he  searched  the  sea  of  resource  for  the 
likeliest  channel  through  which  to  bring  his  promise- 
threat  into  port  and  the  anchorage  of  accomplishment. 


CHAPTER  XX 

ONE  LIVELY  ESCUTCHEON 

INTERROGATORY  argument  had  forced  most 
answers  in  Pape's  career.  Now  two  of  a  pertinent 
order  forced  an  italicized  third  which,  under  limitations 
of  the  moment,  was  unanswerable. 

Why  delay  a  reappearance  before  his  self-selected 
lady? 

By  way  of  excuse,  why  not  realize  on  that  well-bred 
dare  of  Aunt  Helene — why  not  make  good  on  his 
agreement  to  match  the  Sturgis  coat-of-arms  with  that 
of  the  house  of  Pape? 

After  which,  what? . 

Even  more  alive  than  was  he  must  his  escutcheon 
be.  Just  how  dynamically  alive,  he'd  be  able  soon  to 
demonstrate,  unless  the  West  Shore  Railroad's  fast 
freight  from  Chicago  had  met  with  delay.  He'd  ask 
no  recourse  to  the  weighty  tomes  of  ancient  history 
or  the  public  library's  genealogical  records.  His  show- 
ing must  be  more  representative  of  the  last  of  the  line 
than  that  and  up  to  the  second. 

The  flags  of  all  the  taxis  he  sighted  were  furled  for 
earlier  fares,  but  a  flat- wheeled  Fifty-ninth  Street  sur- 
face care  bore  him  cross-town.  The  checker  at  the 
door  of  Polkadot's  palatial  boarding-house  further 
taxed  his  time. 

"Gent  here  asking  for  you,  Mr.  Pape,  not  more  than 

212 


ONE  LIVELY  ESCUTCHEON  213 

half  hour  ago.  .  .  .  No,  he  wasn't  small  or  sharp- 
faced — not  partic'aler  so.  No,  he  didn't  have  no  cauli- 
flower ear.  What  I  did  notice  was  his  wat'ry  voice 
and  what  might  pass  for  a  mustache  if  you  had  mag- 
nifying eyes.  .  .  .  Said  he'd  just  stick  around." 

So!  His  trailer  of  the  moment  was  neither  Welch 
nor  Duffy,  but  the  youth  of  the  slightly  adorned  lip. 
The  nature  of  that  small  matter  of  business  which 
had  brought  him  to  the  Astor  last  evening  might  better 
remain  a  mystery  since  mysteries  were  the  order  of 
the  day  and  attempted  solutions  were  likely  to  land  one 
before  a  magistrate. 

Pape  hurried  into  the  stable  and  the  whinnied  greet- 
ing of  his  three-hued  best  friend.  His  change  into 
riding  clothes  took  no  more  time  than  was  needed  by 
the  groom  to  put  Polkadot  into  his  leather.  He  was 
riding  out  the  main  "gate,"  his  mind  upon  the  plan 
that  had  come  with  the  speed  of  inspiration,  when 

"Pardon  my  persistence,  Mr.  Pape,  but  that's  what 
I'm  hired  for." 

He  had  "stuck  around,"  the  thin-voiced,  thin- 
mustached,  thin-visaged  weakling;  was  blocking  the 
exit;  now  incensed  Dot  by  a  curbing  hand  on  the 
bridle  rein. 

Hurriedly  Pape  considered  whether  to  jump  the 
horse  past  the  human  barrier  or  to  temporize.  Fearing 
delay  from  more  entanglement  in  the  city's  red  tape, 
he  made  an  overture. 

"If  persistence  is  what  you're  hired  for,  how  much 
to  give  up?" 

"To  give  up — just  what?" 


214  LONESOME  TOWN 

"Whatever  you're  hired  to  run  me  down  for.  At 
that  it  looks  to  me  as  if  you  were  working  on  the 
wrong  job." 

The  youth  straightened  with  some  show  of  self- 
respect.  "Right  or  wrong  it's  regular — a  steady  job 
for  life  if  I  do  my  part." 

"For  life?"  Pape  snorted.  "You  don't  mean  to  say 
you're  going  to  persist  after  me  for  life?" 

"Until  you  come  across,  sir " 

"You  trying  to  pull  a  polite  hold-up?  I'll  ride  over 
your  remains,  son,  if  you  don't  drop  that  bridle  and 
let  me " 

"Until  you  pay  what  you  owe,  I  mean." 

Pape  tweaked  a  sunburned  ear  in  puzzling  the  thick- 
ened plot.  "Haven't  I  said  I  was  more  than  willing 
to  pay  you " 

"Pay  the  company,  not  me,  Mr.  Pape." 

"The  com What  company?" 

"The  New  York  Edison  Company." 

Indignantly  the  Westerner  stared  down  into  the 
vacuous  face  of  this  latest  impediment  to  progress. 

"You're  an  agent  for — for  phonographs?"  he 
guessed.  "Sorry,  but  I've  got  more  of  those  sing-tanks 
around  home  than  I  can  spare  ears  to  hear  'em.  Lay 
off  my  horse!  You  can't  sell  me  anything  this  after- 
noon." 

"B-but,  wait  a  minute!"  The  Edison  emissary  con- 
tinued to  earn  his  salary  by  the  way  he  hung  on. 
"You've  already  bought  all  I'm  asking  you  to  pay  for. 
Unless  it's  inconvenient — if  you'd  only  take  a  minute 
off  and  settle " 


ONE  LIVELY  ESCUTCHEON          215 

"Inconvenient — unless?"  Pape  was  beginning  to 
fear  a  loss  of  self-control. 

Polkadot  was  equally  vociferous,  if  less  intelligible, 
for  he  detested  alien  hands  upon  his  harness. 

Pushing  back  his  stirrups,  Pape  leaned  over  the 
horn  of  his  saddle  to  demand:  "Say,  do  I  look  like  a 
dodo  that  was  just  loafing  around  for  a  chance  chat 
with  a  persistency  specialist  like  you  ?  Now  you  tell  me 
in  not  more  than  one  short  word  what  you  want  me  to 
settle  for  or  I'll " 

"Juice,"  interrupted  the  mild-mannered  youth,  obe- 
dient to  the  syllable. 

"Juice?"  As  though  a  button  had  been  pushed, 
light  flooded  Pape's  mind.  He  straightened,  began  to 
laugh,  then  stopped  again  to  query  the  collector.  "So 
you're  from —  So  they  sent  you  to—  So  that's 
why " 

His  pause  was  to  tickle  Polkadot's  back-waggling 
ears — to  share  that  responsive  pal's  quiver  of  mirth. 
When  again  able  to  articulate 

"How  much?  Let's  see  your  persistency  passport,  if 
you  brought  one.  Humph!  Not  much  to  waste  all 
this  two-man  time  for.  Say,  you  go  back  and  tell 
your  skimpy  electro- factory  that  you  persisted  just  long 
enough  to  prevent  my  making  an  attack  in  force  upon 
their  main  office." 

"An  attack — why?"  the  youth  asked  gently. 

"Why  not?"  demanded  Pape.  "Maybe  you  can  tell 
me  why  all  the  current  is  running  to  Goldfish  Movie  and 
Yutu  Corset  signs — why  last  night  at  7:15  they  were 
blazing  and  not  a  letter  of  Welcome-To-Our-City  was 


216  LONESOME  TOWN 

lit,  nor  a  rose  of  my  wreath  blooming  for  me!  If 
they  call  that  service " 

"You  can't  have  service  without  paying  the  bills, 
Mr.  Pape.  Just  what  I  was  trying  to  tell  you  at  your 
hotel  last  evening.  Your  sign  burns  up  credit,  I  tell 
you.  It  won't  light  up  another  night  until " 

"Until  I  fuel  up,  eh?"  Already  Pape  had  pulled 
from  pocket  a  wallet  fat  with  bills  freshly  parked  for 
ransom  against  any  possible  expense  of  New  York 
justice.  "This  will  cover  the  bill  with  a  couple  of  cen- 
turies in  advance  for  a  few  days  future  service.  Ex- 
press my  apologies  to  Mr.  Edison.  Explain  that  the 
reason  you  couldn't  make  me  dig  up  last  night  was 
because  I  had  an  engagement  to  dig  down.  You  might 
add  that  it  was  with  some  one  to  whom  the  welcome 
sign  had  made  me  welcome.  You  can  say  for  me 
that  my  career  since  he  howdy-dooed  me  in  watts  and 
kilowatts  would  make  a  live-wire  ad.  for  the  concern. 
The  facts  ain't  ready  for  rose-wreathed  publicity  yet — 
not  yet  awhile — but  they  would  turn  the  president  of 
a  gas  company  into  an  enthusiastic  rooter  for  electric 
signs." 

Pape  chuckled  from  more  than  appreciation  of  his 
own  pithy  remarks — with  more  than  satisfaction  at 
overly  paying  an  over-due  bill,  as  he  waved  a  hand  in 
cordial  au  revoir  and  started  out  the  stable.  He  con- 
sidered this  elimination  of  his  eye-brow  mustached 
caller — the  out-speeding  of  his  third  shadow,  so  to  say 
— a  good  omen.  With  like  conclusiveness  would  he  in 
time  dispose  of  the  tack-faced  Welch  and  Duffy  of  the 
vegetable  ear,  not  to  mention  any  foes  unidentified 


ONE  LIVELY  ESCUTCHEON  217 

as  yet,  such  as  the  ring-leader  of  the  plot  against  the 
Lauderdales  and  his  own  quarry  in  Gotham's  under- 
brush, that  promoter  of  Montana  Gusher  oil  stock. 

He  felt  convinced  that  luck  again  was  with  him  when, 
at  the  end  of  his  ride  to  the  wharf-studded  bank  of  the 
Hudson  River,  he  found  that  for  once  the  West  Shore 
Road  had  not  disappointed  a  consignee.  In  one  of  the 
high- fenced,  unroofed  pens  of  a  wholesale  butcher 
stood  twenty-five  or  thirty  sleek  steers,  red  splotched 
with  white,  upon  the  rump  of  each  the  interrogation 
brand  of  the  Queer  Question  Ranch. 

The  range  smell  of  the  beasts  caused  Dot's  nostrils 
to  quiver  from  delight  over  the  reminder  of  home; 
caused  his  hind-hoofs  to  polka  about  the  yard  and  his 
fore  to  lift  in  a  proffered  horseshoe  shake  to  the  beef 
handlers,  one  and  all.  And  Pape  himself  felt  hugely 
pleased  over  the  showing  of  his  product  in  this  "for- 
eign" market,  for  which  they  had  been  bred  and  fed. 

Dissatisfied  with  the  returns  from  shipments  to  the 
established  stock-yards  of  the  Middle  West — those  of 
Chicago,  Kansas  City  and  Omaha  having  proved  in 
turn  equally  deficient — he  had  conceived  a  plan  of  ship- 
ping direct  by  fast  freight  to  the  seaboard  Metropolis. 
His  hopes  were  based  upon  New  York's  reputation  of 
paying  for  its  luxuries  and  the  fact  that  absolutely 
fresh  beef  was  a  luxury.  He  soon  had  found  an  eager 
distributor  and  there  promised  to  be  no  lack  of  con- 
sumers who  were  able  and  willing  to  pay.  In  time  he 
hoped  to  gain  for  "Montana  beef"  as  ambitious  a 
place  on  high-class  menus  as  that  so  long  and  honorably 


218  LONESOME  TOWN 

held  by  "Virginia  ham,"  "Vermont  maple  syrup," 
"Philadelphia  squab"  or  "Long  Island  duckling." 

At  the  moment,  however,  his  interest  was  not  cen- 
tered in  the  commercial  origin  of  the  project;  rather,  in 
"showing"  the  town,  inclusive  of  one  particularly  jeal- 
ous gentleman  snob.  From  the  foreman  of  the  yard  he 
borrowed  the  services  of  a  couple  of  transplanted  punch- 
ers who  looked  efficient  and  to  whom  he  confided  the 
nature  of  an  impromptu  act.  Personally  he  selected 
and  cut-out  of  the  bunch  its  finest  specimen — a  huge 
red  steer  with  wide-flung  horns,  whose  Queer  Question 
brand  was  distinctly  burned. 

Polkadot,  a-quiver  from  the  exercise  so  remindful  of 
home,  was  all  capers,  grins  and  hee-haws  by  the  end  of 
the  task.  The  yard  employees,  turned  rail-birds  for 
the  nonce,  were  vociferous  in  their  applause  over  the 
skill  of  man  and  mount.  Only  the  steer  showed  irrita- 
tion. 

"Not  a  bad  idea,"  observed  the  foreman  to  Pape. 
"Bold,  but  not  bad  at  all — this  eat-ad.  of  beef  on  the 
hoof." 

The  Westerner  stared  at  him  a  moment,  then  decided 
to  let  the  surmise  stand.  These  metropolitan  cowboys 
scarcely  would  appreciate  the  importance  of  the  purpose 
to  which  he  meant  to  put  the  brute,  even  did  he  care  to 
explain.  Under  his  direction  the  two  punchers  "hung 
their  strings"  about  the  horns  of  the  elect,  one  on 
either  side.  His  own  rope  he  neatly  attached  to  the 
left  hind  hoof,  to  act  as  a  brake  in  case  of  an  attempted 
stampede.  The  small  procession  got  under  way. 

Although  at  the  start  their  pace  was  no  more  than 
that  of  a  reasonably  brisk  funeral  procession,  they  at- 


ONE  LIVELY  ESCUTCHEON          219 

tracted  the  attention  of  the  West  Side  youngsters,  to 
whom  they  appeared  to  have  much  of  the  interest  of 
a  circus  parade.  At  once,  as  if  a  growth  sprung 
from  asphalt  and  cobblestone  fields,  a  veritable  swarm 
of  under-fif teens  surrounded  the  outfit.  Well  it  was 
for  these  embryonic  rooters  of  the  ward  that  Polkadot 
disdained  to  use  his  dancing  feet  for  anything  so 
gauche  as  kicks,  for  they  banked  about  his  rear-guard 
position,  in  order  the  more  intimately  to  admire  his 
color  splotches  and  prancy  step,  and  even  took  drag- 
holds  upon  his  silken  tail,  as  well  as  Pape's  stirrups, 
that  they  might  not  fall  behind. 

"Taking  him  to  a  bull  fight,  mister?" 

The  question  was  variously  couched,  but  unani- 
mously excited. 

Except  for  this  darting,  swooping,  whooping  escort, 
the  early  advance  of  Pape's  escutcheon  toward  Fifth 
Avenue  was  accomplished  without  undue  excitement. 
At  Columbus  Circle,  however,  the  roving  "wall"  eyes 
of  the  beef -brute  sighted  the  green  of  South  Meadow. 
Doubtless  its  appetite  was  hurting  for  fresh  grass  after 
the  long  journey  on  cured  food,  his  brain  confused 
by  the  blur  of  strange  sights  and  sounds,  his  muscles 
aching  for  the  Montana-wide  freedom  so  suddenly  cur- 
tailed at  the  gate  of  a  cow-town  shipping  pen. 

Whether  actuated  by  one  or  all  of  these  impulses,  or 
merely  moved  by  inherent  wildness,  the  red  executed  a 
flank  movement  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  steak.  In 
terms  of  action  he  showed  a  desperate  desire  to  throw 
off  his  rope  shackles  and  bolt  into  Central  Park.  The 
press  of  vehicular  traffic  aided  him  by  hampering  his 
guard.  Could  they  have  spread  out  triangularly,  they 


220  LONESOME  TOWN 

might  have  held  him  helpless.  An  attempted  swerve 
tangled  the  puncher  on  the  left  in  his  own  rope  and 
forced  him  to  dismount  to  save  himself  a  spill.  He  on 
the  right  was  prevented  from  closing  in  by  regard  for 
the  young  lives  and  limbs  of  their  admirers. 

Relieved  of  the  three-ply  pressure,  the  steer  essayed  a 
headdown  rush  to  accept  the  gift  of  the  grass.  This 
soon  was  tautened  into  a  three-legged  run,  through 
Pape's  hoof-hold  from  behind.  At  that,  the  captive  had 
the  over-plus  of  power  and  might  easily  have  controlled 
their  course  except  for  ramming  into  a  street  car  which 
had  slowed  down  that  the  motor  man  might  enjoy  the 
show.  In  the  moment  in  which  he  stood  stunned,  the 
unhorsed  puncher  regained  his  rope  and  saddle,  his  fel- 
low cleared  a  way  and  Pape  quit  his  drag  from  the 
rear.  The  steer  stampede  in  Manhattan's  heart  was 
under  control.  The  lively  Pape  escutcheon  again  was 
headed  toward  its  destination. 

In  front  of  the  Sturgis  house  a  groom  was  holding 
three  saddlers.  Pape's  wonder  as  to  who  might  be 
riding  with  whom  was  answered.  Scarcely  had  he 
and  his  aides  stopped  his  hoofed  exhibit  when  Jane 
Lauderdale,  in  a  crisp  gray  riding  suit,  appeared  from 
the  vestibule.  She  was  followed  by  Irene  and  Mills 
Harford.  The  trio  stood  at  the  top  of  the  stone  flight 
and  gaped  with  sheer  amazement  at  the  unexpected 
delegation. 

Irene  was  first  to  recover  her  sangfroid,  probably 
because  endowed  with  an  excess  of  that  quality. 

"Only  look  who's  here !"  was  her  lilt  of  greeting  as 
she  clattered  down  the  steps.  "The  possible  person  back 
again  and How  in  the  world  did  you  suspect, 


ONE  LIVELY  ESCUTCHEON  221 

Why-Not,  that  I  am  keen  about  cows?  This  specimen 
is  a  perfect  dar-rling.  I  could  just  hug  her  to  death." 

"You  could  that — to  your  own  death.  Look  out. 
Don't  come  closer  than  the  curb." 

With  the  warning,  Pape  threw  a  snake-like  wriggle 
into  his  rope  which  loosened  its  noose-hold  upon  the 
hoof  of  the  seemingly  subdued  steer.  Coiling  it  upon 
his  saddle  horn,  he  swung  to  the  asphalt  and  saluted  her, 
army  fashion. 

Jane,  from  a  stand  halfway  down  the  steps,  added 
only  the  inquiry  of  her  eyes. 

Harford  it  was  who  strode  forward  with  demand. 
"What's  the  big  idea,  Pape?  You  trying  to  make  a 
spectacle  of  us  for  the  benefit  of  the  neighbors?" 

Pape  answered  them  inclusively.  "No  pet  cow  knocks 
at  your  gates,  but  a  steer  rounded  up  and  cut-out  at 
Mrs.  Sturgis'  request.  Is  the  lady  in  ?" 

"Aunt  Helene  ?  Impossible !" — Jane,  with  a  gasp  for 
exclamation  point. 

"Ignore  the  practical  joker,"  urged  Harford.  "Let's 
leave  him  to  do  his  ridiculous  worst  and  go  on  with 
our  ride." 

Ignore  him,  eh?  The  word  interested  the  Westerner. 
That  was  what  he  had  decided  to  do  to  the  claims  of 
Irene.  But  one  attempt  promised  to  be  about  as  suc- 
cessful as  the  other  to  judge  by  the  clutch  of  resentment 
within  him  and  the  clutch  of  that  young  woman's  fingers 
upon  his  arm.  He  faced  another  moment  when  heart's 
ease  and  fate  hung  upon  a  thread  of  most  uncertain 
feminine  spin. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IGNORING  IRENE 

IN  her  self-sufficient  egoism  Irene  Sturgis  had  no 
mercy.  She  continued  to  ravel  the  thread. 

"At  times,  dar-rling,  you  get  too  terribly  eccentric 
for  even  me  to — to  swallow."  She  gulped  at  the  mid- 
way modified  metaphor.  "If  you'd  sent  me  a  bunch 
of  orchids  now,  by  way  of  suggesting  your  gratitude 
for  last  night's  rescue  from  limbo,  or  if  you'd  brought 
around  a  pinkie  ring  with  a  birthstone  set — diamonds 
are  for  April,  you  know — which  mother  might  let  me 
keep  if  I  coaxed  her  and  explained  how  it  humiliates 
me  always  to  be  borrowing  jewelry — I'd  not  have  lifted 
a  questioning  lash.  But  to  steer  up  a  ton  of  beef " 

She  paused  to  survey  again  the  bulk  of  his  assumed 
gift,  but  not  long  enough  for  successful  interruption. 
"Still,  one  shouldn't  look  a  gift-cow  in  the  mouth,  I 
suppose.  What  does  one  feed  her — him,  Why-Not, 
and  where  will  it  sleep?  His  eyes  are  so  wild,  poor 
pretty,  she  looks  as  if  it  hadn't  had  a  good  night  in  a 
week.  Nice  moo-moo — nice  bossy !" 

Despite  her  liberty  with  genders,  none  of  her  hearers 
failed  to  grasp  her  meaning. 

"Irone,"  Harford  interposed,  "have  you  forgotten 
what  your  mother  told  you  to  do — rather  not  to  do — 
regarding " 

222 


IGNORING  IRENE  223 

His  stern  tone  made  the  acquisitive  little  creature's 
fingers  tighten  on  Pape's  arm ;  also  made  him  lean  to- 
ward her  with  the  sympathy  of  a  shared  resentment. 
So  the  family  had  settled  it  in  council — at  Harford's 
suggestion,  doubtless — that  Irene,  as  well  as  Jane,  must 
cut  the  Montana  ineligible. 

His  shoulders  shrugged  for  a  bit  of  ignoring  on  his 
own  account  and  his  speech  was  all  for  Irene.  "The 
critter's  too  hoofed  to  take  in  to  your  mother,  but  if 
you'd  ask  her  to  come  out  on  the  steps " 

"Aren't  you  too  cute?"  the  girl  enthused.  "I've 
heard  about  old-time,  old-country  suitors  listing  their 
oxen  and  asses  when  asking  their  lady-love's  hand.  I 
hope  mother  will  get  the  thought  back  of  the  deed. 
She's  got  to,  even  if  she  don't.  She'll  be  startled  to 
small  bits,  but  I'll  drag  her  out  and " 

Her  hand  slid  up  to  his  shoulder  and  she  stood  on 
tip-toe  to  confide  hurriedly :  "It's  all  right,  their  telling 
me  what  not  to  do.  When  it  comes  to  you,  Peter 
dar-rling,  I  know  what  to  do.  Fortunately  I  have  the 
courage  of  my  corpuscles  and  I'm  almost  as  keen  about 
your  cow  as  I  am  about " 

Before  Pape  suspected  her  intention,  so  all  too  unac- 
customed was  he  to  demonstrations  of  such  sort,  she 
had  pressed  her  ripe-rouged  lips  against  his  paling  own 
in  a  kiss  that  spoke  the  perquisitory  passion  of  one 
young  lady  of  to-day. 

Ignore  Irene?  Not  any  more  than  certain  other 
somebodies  should  ignore  him! 

As  she  darted  off,  he  felt  moved  by  the  initiative  of 
desperation  toward  one  of  the  witnesses.  He  anchored 


224  LONESOME  TOWN 

Polkadot  by  dropping  the  reins  over  his  head;  strode 
toward  the  foot  of  the  steps  where  Jane  was  leaning 
against  the  balustrade;  lifted  a  look  straight  as  a  board 
to  hers.  Despite  the  expression  of  repose-at-all-costs  so 
becoming  to  her  perfect  features,  despite  the  frank 
scowl  of  the  more  favored  suitor  standing  literally  and 
figuratively  on  the  same  level  with  her,  he  spoke  from 
the  heart. 

"Jane,"  said  he,  "everything  I  have  and  everything 
I  am  are  at  your  service." 

"Steer  and  all?"  She  put  the  question  in  a  curiously 
unimpassioned  voice  that  made  him  ache  with  its 
reproach. 

"Steer  and  all — you'll  see,"  he  declared.  "You  can't 
afford  to  doubt  me,  any  more  than  I  could  afford  to 
doubt  the  power  that  beast  represents.  Look  at  me 
with  your  own  eyes  and  you'll  see  that  I  am  as  incapable 
as  the  red  of  deceit  or  double-dealing  toward  you. 
Trust  me,  unless —  You  don't  want  to  doubt  me, 
do  you,  Jane?" 

Evidently  Mrs.  Sturgis  was  not  accustomed  to  being 
dragged  out  on  the  pavement  fronting  her  town  house 
— at  any  rate  not  in  negligee.  The  protests  which  bub- 
bled from  her  lips  and  spilled  down  the  steps  with  this 
latest  caprice  of  her  daughter,  however,  were  of  no 
avail.  Irene  had  a  firm  grip  on  her  arm  and  defied 
any  attempt  to  assert  maternal  authority  with  a  cluster 
of  long-stemmed  red  roses  which  she  brandished  in  her 
free  hand. 

Although  Jane's  lips  had  moved  twice,  as  if  from 


IGNORING  IRENE  225 

desire  to  make  Pape  some  reply,  she  was  deterred 
by  the  outburst  from  above.  He,  too,  turned  to  meet 
the  new  issue,  in  this  case  a  conventional  matron  forced 
to  behave  in  an  unconventional  way.  Her  several 
glances  were  directed  down  at  the  steer,  up  at  the  win- 
dows of  such  fashionable  neighbors  as  might  or  might 
not  be  peering  through  front  blinds,  across  into  the 
easy,  amiable  grin  of  the  Westerner  voted  to  be  too 
"wild"  in  recent  family  council.  Her  attempt  to  dis- 
countenance him  with  a  stony  stare  combined  rather 
pitifully  with  the  outraged  decorum  and  flush  of 
fright  on  her  face. 

"Mr.  Pape,  w-what  does  this  m-menagerie  mean?" 

"It  means,  madame — "  with  his  sombrero  Pape 
dusted  a  section  of  the  pavement  cement  in  his  bow — 
"that  I  have  the  honor  of  fulfilling  your  urgent  request. 
In  yonder  bovine  I  present  for  your  inspection  a  copy  of 
the  Stansbury-Pape  escutcheon — verily  the  fruit  of 
my  family  tree.  I  trust  he  may  meet  with  your  ap- 
proval as  a  genealogical  guarantee." 

"But  Irene  said — I  must  say  that  I — I  don't  under- 
stand." 

"Ma'am,  Irene  herself  doesn't  understand,  therefore 
cannot  explain.  Pray  allow  me  to  elucidate." 

He  included  the  rest  as  hearers  by  a  mandatory 
glance,  all  except  the  perquisitory  person.  She  was 
sidling,  fascinated,  toward  what  was  to  her  the  latest 
in  love  tokens. 

Drops  of  curiosity  were  wearing  away  the  stone  of 
the  matron's  stare. 

"By  bovine — it's  so  long  since  I  studied  Latin — are 


226  LONESOME  TOWN 

you  referring  to  that  wicked-looking  cow,  young  man?" 
she  demanded. 

"He  don't  look  feline  or  canine  or  even  equine — I  ask 
you,  does  he,  now?"  Pape  waved  a  prideful  hand  to- 
ward his  fellow  Montanan.  "You  enquired  if  I  had  a 
coat-of-arms.  You  remember?  You  seem  to  set  store 
on  the  insignia  of  a  fellow's  who,  whence  and  whither. 
Yonder  steer,  ma'am,  wears  my  escutcheon." 

"Wears  it?  I — I  don't  seem  to  begin  to  understand 
you." 

"Then  it  is  well  that  I  am  here  to  help  you  under- 
stand. Your  necessity  is  my  opportunity."  Pape  thor- 
oughly dusted  another  block  of  cement.  "Note,  if  you 
please,  the  interrogation  mark  burned  into  the  hair  of 
the  red's  right  rump  and  the  odd  angle  at  which  it  is 
placed.  That  is  the  shield  of  the  house  of  Pape." 

Whether  at  his  words  or  the  hand  on  her  elbow  which 
was  inviting  her  closer  to  the  hang-head  exhibit  in  the 
street,  Mrs.  Sturgis  laughed  with  a  nervous  note. 

"But  that  is  absurd !    A  question-mark  a  shield  ?" 

"Pardon  me — no  more  absurd  than  any  new  idea 
before  demonstration." 

All  whimsicality  disappeared  in  the  serious  set  of  the 
Westerner's  face.  He  straightened;  demanded  Jane 
Lauder dale's  attention  with  a  look ;  continued : 

"To  take  nothing  for  granted,  but  to  question  every- 
thing has  become  my  shield.  With  it  before  me,  the 
fights  I  find  necessary  are  forewon.  Nobody  can  take 
me  by  surprise  or  press  through  my  guard.  Nothing — 
positively  nothing  that  I  want  is  impossible  to  obtain." 

This   rather  extravagant   sounding  claim   Harford 


IGNORING  IRENE  227 

contested — Pape  had  hoped  he  would,  while  fearing  he 
wouldn't. 

"Dear  me,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  seem  to  be  a  sort  of 
natural-born  New  Thoughter." 

"Not  born — made."  The  ranchman's  look  slashed 
through  the  space  between  him  and  the  Gothamite. 
"Out  in  Montana,  Harfy,  that  escutcheon  means  a  lot 
— to  stock  rustlers  and  brand-blotters  and  oil  share 
fakers.  Make  a  note  of  the  fact  that  Why-Not  Pape 
queer-questions  every  man  that  gets  in  his  way.  Few — 
and  I  don't  think  you — can  answer  straight." 

"You  don't  think —  You  take  that  back,  you 
ill-bred  bounder  or  I'll— I'll " 

With  a  spring  from  step  to  pavement,  Harford 
squared  off  to  make  good  his  unfinished  threat.  His 
face  and  eyes  went  as  red  as  his  hair.  His  fingers 
tightened  as  if  to  the  curve  of  a  throat. 

Pape  met  him  with  a  well-pleased  look. 

Forgetful  of  the  metropolitan  scene,  of  those  possible 
eyes  and  eyes  of  behind-shutter  neighbors  and  of  the 
fears  of  their  own  fair,  the  two  closed  in  that  desire-to- 
conquer  conflict  which,  from  primordial  times  through 
the  hazy  stretch  of  days-after-to-morrows-and-mor- 
rows,  ever  has  been  and  ever  shall  be  the  lust  of  love. 
There  was  no  preliminary  feinting.  From  its  start  the 
fight  promised  to  go  the  limit  which,  in  this  case,  would 
be  the  finish. 

A  suppressed  shriek  escaped  Mrs.  Sturgis,  then  she 
rushed  to  her  niece  and  demanded  that  the  two  be 
separated  and  the  scandal  of  a  street  brawl  before 
her  house  averted.  Jane  did  not  answer  in  words, 


228  LONESOME  TOWN 

but  she  threw  off  the  clutch  with  which  her  relative 
was  both  urging  and  staying  her,  and  started  toward 
the  passion-flaring  pair. 

Denied  his  throat  hold  by  queer-question  tactics, 
Harford  settled  back  to  a  slugging  match  in  which  his 
heavier  weight  might  lend  him  an  advantage.  Again, 
as  on  the  park  butte-top  in  a  recent  electric-lighted  mill, 
Pape  adopted  grizzly  form. 

If  any  one  of  the  excited  group  heard,  none  attended 
certain  regardless  utterances  with  which  Irene,  the 
while,  had  been  wooing  to  win  her  glare-eyed  gift  of 
gratitude.  Poised  daintily  on  the  curb's  edge,  she  was 
endeavoring  to  regale  the  steer  with  a  whiff  of  the  long- 
stemmed  red  roses  which  she  had  brought  from  the 
house. 

"Here  bossy,  poor  old  bossy,  see  what  Rene  has 
brought  out  for  you.  My  Mice  moo-moo.  Oh,  don't 
shake  your  horns !  Why  not  enjoy  the  little  things  in 
life  while  you  may?  C'mon,  have  a  sniff  on  me !" 

Leaning  far  out,  she  continued  to  tease  his  nostrils 
with  her  offering  as  the  two  punchers  steadied  the  beast 
with  remindful  pulls  upon  the  "strings"  which  they 
had  about  his  horns. 

"Sook,  bossy !  That's  cow  language,  if  you  get  me. 
You're  an  absolute  dar-rling  and  I  know  it.  You  can't 
scare  me  off  with  those  mean  glances.  Understand  me, 
I  like  'em  fierce.  The  fiercer  the  fonder." 

Now,  it  is  highly  improbable  that  the  beef-brute  took 
her  dare  or  even  grasped  a  word  of  it;  more  likely 
that  the  fresh  scent  of  the  roses  rewoke  his  longing 
for  what  he  had  smelled  and  striven  toward  and  failed 


IGNORING  IRENE  229 

to  attain  on  his  first  whiff  of  Central  Park.  Or  per- 
haps their  color  was  wholly  responsible — perhaps  it 
acted  as  a  red  flag  upon  inherited  bull  instincts. 

At  any  rate,  the  Stansbury-Pape  escutcheon  threw  up 
his  part  with  a  violent  coordination  of  horns,  head  and 
heels.  And  he  let  out  a  bawl  that  announced  to  the 
humans  about  him  and  their  neighbors  all  his  return 
in  spirit  to  the  wild.  The  tumult  of  the  moment  opened 
with  a  wild-eyed  charge  upon  the  nearer  of  the  at- 
tendant punchers.  So  sudden  was  this  that  it  could  not 
be  avoided — both  mount  and  man  "bit"  the  asphalt.  In 
falling,  the  unfortunate  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind 
to  throw  off  the  hitch  of  rope  about  his  saddle  horn  and 
save  himself  being  burned  in  the  tangle  of  hemp. 

Half  free,  the  red  torpedo  started  in  ponderous  pur- 
suit of  a  Fire  Department  runabout  that  chanced  at  the 
moment  to  clang  a  right-of-way  for  him  up  the  avenue. 
The  puncher  still  attached  braced  his  cayuse  to  throw 
the  steer  when  the  slack  of  his  rope  was  taken  up. 
This  proved  a  tactical  error.  While  he  did  not  over- 
rate the  strength  and  willingness  of  his  mount,  he  did 
that  of  the  lariat.  At  the  severance  of  its  strands,  the 
reddest  wearer  of  the  Queer  Question  Brand  was  quite 
free  and  going  strong  in  the  general  direction  of 
Harlem.  The  trailing  length  of  one  rope  and  fragment 
of  the  other  seemed  to  urge  him  into  increased  efforts 
to  outrun  them.  His  head  held  high.  His  horns  tossed 
threateningly.  His  nostrils  snorted  acceptance  of  the 
invitation  of  the  grass. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  steer's  initiative  the  issue  of 
East  vs.  West  had  been  unanimously  postponed.  Pape 


230  LONESOME  TOWN 

had  sprung  to  his  thrown  aide,  dragged  him  from  under 
the  floundering  horse  and  made  sure  that  the  leg  which 
had  been  caught  was  not  seriously  injured. 

"Jane — Mrs.  Sturgis,  won't  you " 

His  appeal  to  the  New  Yorkers,  started  in  words  and 
finished  in  gesture,  consigned  the  man  injured  within 
their  gates — had  they  had  any  gates — to  their  mercy. 
Ordering  the  puncher  of  the  tactical  error  to  follow,  he 
lofted  into  his  own  saddle  and  was  off  in  pursuit  of  his 
imported  beef  on  the  hoof. 

Scarcely  three  minutes  later— certainly  not  more — 
Mrs.  Helene  Sturgis  stood  deserted  upon  her  front 
steps,  staring  up  the  world- famed  highway  after  the 
strangest  chase  which  she,  at  least,  had  witnessed  in  its 
history.  She  was  all  a-tremble  from  the  various  and 
violent  protests  she  had  shrilled — to  Jane,  to  Harfy,  to 
Irene.  Her  hands  were  clutched  together  in  remon- 
strance over  what  had  been.  Her  face  was  drawn  with 
terror  over  what  was.  Keen  was  her  dread  of  what 
might  be.  A  prairie  steer  scarcely  could  run  amuck 
in  the  heart  of  New  York  without  spreading  more  or 
less  havoc.  And  the  responsibility — would  her  own 
innocent  child,  through  participation  in  the  pursuit,  be 
forced  to  share  in  that? 

On  the  sidewalk  below,  the  injured  puncher  was 
feeling  his  leg,  the  pain  wincing  his  weathered  face. 
She  heard  some  one  come  out  the  door  above. 

"Jasper?" 

"Yes,  madame." 

She  had  the  butler  help  the  man  into  the  house  and 
herself  followed  up  the  steps.  At  the  top  she  turned; 


IGNORING  IRENE  231 

shivered  in  the  warm  spring  air ;  lifting  hand  to  brow, 
again  strained  her  gaze  up  the  Avenue. 

That  her  niece,  whom  she  expected  always  to  be  de- 
pendable, should  have  caught  the  epidemic  wildness  of 
this  Westerner — that  Jane  should  have  leaped  her  horse 
and  started  at  top  speed  after  him!  And  that  Mills 
Harford,  after  following  and  overtaking  her,  should 
prove  too  afraid  of  her  temper  forcefully  to  stop  her! 
Worst  of  all  that  her  own  Irene  should  join  the  dis- 
graceful and  dangerous  street  race  and  actually  outrun 
the  other  two ! 

A  hand  against  a  heart  heavy  with  foreboding  the 
matron  pressed  as  she  looked.  .  .  .  The  cow-creature — 
it  was  swerving  from  the  straight-away.  .  .  .  Was  it 
about  to — Yes,  it  did  clear  the  park  wall  at  a  bound. 
.  .  .  The  two  hurdling  after  probably  were  Pape  and 
the  puncher.  A  mother's  hope  that  the  next  horse  to 
top  the  hazard  might  be  Jane's  died  in  a  groan  as 
she  caught  the  red  flash  of  the  roses  to  which  her 
daughter  had  clung  through  all  the  excitement  of  the 
start.  .  .  .  Would  she  land  safely  on  the  other  side — 
this  young  lady  of  to-day  who  once  had  been  her  babe- 
at-breast  ? 

Evidently  Jane,  too  late  to  save  the  situation,  but  in 
good  time  to  save  herself  a  possible  fall,  had  come  into 
some  degree  of  discretion.  She  and  Mills  were  turn- 
ing in  at  a  convenient  gate. 

What  was  it  the  Why-Not  person  had  said  ?  "Noth- 
ing— positively  nothing  is  impossible."  .  .  .  Perhaps  it 
would  do  no  harm  to  go  inside  and  pray.  There  was 


232  LONESOME  TOWN 

nothing  else  a  woman  of  yesterday  could  do.  It  might 
help  to  bring  them  all  back  alive  and  unbroken  as  to 
bones.  These  modern  young  folks,  what  were  they 
coming  to — more  appropriately,  where  were  they  going? 


CHAPTER  XXII 

BEEF  ON  THE  HOOF 

OFTEN  the  entrances  to  Central  Park  had  spanned 
a  couple  of  thousand  miles  for  Peter  Pape  and 
his  "Friend  Equus."  Now  it  seemed  to  do  as  much 
for  the  Montana  bovine.  In  the  expanses  he  sighted 
freedom.  Off  the  spring  breeze  he  breathed  the  joy 
of  life.  More  riotously  tossed  his  horns.  Faster 
and  harder  pounded  his  hoofs  in  a  fresh  access  of  speed. 

Through  the  early  afternoon  lull,  his  passage  was 
terrifying,  indeed.  Slow-strollers  and  bench-warmers 
suddenly  became  animated  into  record  retreat.  Nurse- 
maids shrieked  as  they  trundled  baby-carriages  behind 
protecting  tree  trunks  or  snatched  toddlers  out  of  dan- 
ger's path.  An  equestrian  pair  who  came  cantering 
along  took  the  nearest  bank  like  chamois.  Fortunate 
was  it  that  the  season  and  hour  were  not  later,  when  the 
great,  green  melting-pot  would  have  been  brimful  and 
possibilities  of  casualty  greater. 

So  far,  any  interference  along  the  way  had  served  but 
to  accelerate  the  steer's  stampede.  The  one  pedestrian 
on  the  avenue  who  had  dared  seize  the  snake-writhing 
lariat  that  trailed  from  its  unyielding  horn-hold  had 
been  thrown  to  a  fall  on  the  oiled  asphalt  before  he 
could  snub  the  rope  about  a  tree.  A  policeman  on  beat 
who  had  essayed  the  same  feat  farther  along  had  let 

233 


234  LONESOME  TOWN 

go  in  time  to  save  himself  a  worse  sprawl.  Now  the 
rope  was  suffering  a  rapid  curtailment  as  it  frayed 
against  shrubs,  trees  and  rocks. 

When  Polkadot  had  cleared  the  stone  wall  with 
inches  to  spare,  landed  lightly  and  gone  on  without  los- 
ing a  stride,  Pape  turned  to  wave  orders  for  the  trans- 
planted cowboy  to  spread  out.  Not  until  another  day 
did  he  understand  the  disappearance  of  his  aide — that 
he  lay  stunned  at  the  base  of  the  wall  where  he  had 
been  thrown.  Instead,  he  saw  Irene  Sturgis  coming 
over  the  top. 

A  thrill  caught  him  as  she  closed  up  with  all  the 
recklessness  of  a  cow-girl — a  thrill  that  forced  for- 
giveness for  all  the  heart-wrenching  wrongs  she  had 
done  him.  A  flashed  thought  of  Jane  brought  both 
relief  and  regret.  If  only  she,  too,  had  leaped  to 
saddle  and  followed  him — had  yielded  to  the  impulse 
of  interest  regained  or  never  lost!  Deeds,  not  words 
told  the  heart.  He  tried  to  be  glad  that  she  had  thought 
first  of  herself,  yet  was  sorry  that  he  did  not  rank 
before  the  first  in  action's  hour. 

Polkadot's  pace,  however,  soon  outran  vain  regrets ; 
caught  up  with  hopes  ahead.  Through  the  scattered 
trees  that  fringe  the  park  and  across  the  bridle  path 
led  the  steer.  Down  the  asphalted  roadway  he  pounded 
with  such  disregard  of  entitled  traffic  that  drivers 
reached  for  their  emergency  brakes.  A  congestion  of 
cars  which  forced  Pape  to  pull  up  momentarily  gave 
the  runaway  a  gain  upon  his  owner-pursuer.  By  the 
time  egress  was  effected  the  big  red  had  crossed  the 
Mall  and  entered  the  meadow  beyond. 


BEEF  ON  THE  HOOF  235 

As  acre  after  acre  of  turf  unrolled  ahead,  the  too- 
live-stock  loosened  to  the  going.  Pape  put  the  pinto 
to  an  emulative  gallop.  Only  a  glance  to  one  side 
did  he  spare  when  the  shrill  of  a  whistle  located  the 
fat  figure  of  Pudge  O'Shay,  both  hands  and  feet  ani- 
mated by  a  frenzy  of  outraged  authority. 

"No  Queer  Questioner  stops  for  a  quail — quit  your 
tooting  at  us!"  Pape  shouted  as,  far  from  keeping 
"off  the  grass,"  he  urged  his  mount  to  deeper  digs  and 
an  appreciable  increase  of  speed. 

At  sound  of  hoof -beats  behind,  he  turned,  thinking 
to  reinstruct  the  puncher.  Instead,  he  saw  that  Irene, 
luckier  than  he  in  crossing  the  road  and  Mall,  was 
closing  up.  The  red  roses  still  clutched  in  her  waving 
hand  bespoke  excitement's  forget  fulness. 

The  steer  changed  his  direction,  although  not  at  order 
of  the  jumping-jack  in  police  blue.  From  the  traverse 
road  and  out  over  the  meadow  directly  toward  the  out- 
law a  second  woman  rider  had  dashed.  A  shout  from 
behind  her  announced  a  male  escort  who  followed,  but 
could  not  detain  her.  Straight  on  she  came,  a  slim 
streak  of  black  and  white  that  blent  in  the  color  of 
courage.  And  as  she  came,  a  single-syllabled  cry  from 
before  greeted  her — a  salute  from  one  man's  heart  of 
fear- full  gratitude. 

"Jane!" 

Deeds,  then,  did  speak  for  his  self -selected  one !  The 
climacteric  impulse  of  woman  to  follow  her  man,  to  do 
and  dare  for  him,  if  need  be  to  die  with  him  had 
conquered  her  tutored  calm  in  this  emergency.  The  re- 


236  LONESOME  TOWN 

pose  of  her  face  was  a  mask.  Her  spirit  now  dared  his 
own.  Why?  Why  not?  Thank  God,  why  not? 

The  rider  behind  her  was  Mills  Harford.  That 
Pape  had  seen  at  second  glance.  But  any  hope  of  him 
as  an  active  aide  in  recapturing  the  run-amuck  was 
gainsaid  by  his  efforts  to  get  the  girl  out  of  the  chase. 
He  caught  up  with  her,  argued  with  her,  tried  himself 
to  turn  about  her  mount  by  force.  Only  at  threat  of  her 
crop  did  he  drop  the  grasped  bridle  rein. 

Pape  decided  if  possible  to  draft  him  into  service 
against  the  bovine  enemy. 

"Spread  out  and  turn  the  steer!"  he  shouted  across 
the  meadow.  "Head  him  this  way  so  I  can  rope  him." 

Harford  looked  around  as  though  he  had  heard. 
Then,  instead  of  following  directions,  he  rode  full  tilt 
after  the  beast,  brandishing  his  hat  and  shouting  in  a 
manner  calculated  to  continue  the  stampede. 

Whether  he  had  misunderstood  through  ignorance 
of  range  practice  or  was  deliberately  attempting  to 
make  more  serious  the  predicament  of  one  for  whom 
he  had  that  day  shown  such  cordial  dislike,  Pape  had 
no  time  to  ponder.  He  swung  Polkadot  into  an  oblique 
course  on  the  chance  of  preventing  the  runaway's 
escape  into  that  roughest  cross-section  of  the  park 
which  begins  just  north  of  the  Seventy-second- Street 
"parallel." 

The  syncopated  patter  of  hoofs  just  behind  him  told 
that  Irene,  too,  had  swerved  and  was  carrying  on. 
Ahead,  Jane  urged  her  mount  after  Harford  and  his 
ill-conceived  move. 

For  several  minutes  the  four-party  pursuit  pounded 


BEEF  ON  THE  HOOF  237 

over  the  keep-off  meadow,  whose  grass  was  being  held 
in  reserve  against  the  hot  waves  of  next  summer,  when 
it  would  be  thrown  open  to  furnish  cool  green  couches 
for  thousands  of  tenement  swelterers.  So  unseemly 
was  the  interruption  as  to  draw  gapes  of  amazement 
from  such  onlookers  as  held  the  border  walks  and 
bellows  of  command  from  outraged  policemen. 

The  pinto' s  full-speed-ahead  was  reminiscent  in  terms 
of  motion  of  Hellroaring  days  and  deeds.  With  full 
realization  of  what  the  man-master  expected  of  him,, 
he  winged  across  intervening  spaces  like  a  compact 
tornado.  Pape  unlimbered  his  lariat  for  a  throw  calcu- 
lated to  bring  down  the  red  for  hog-tying. 

While  passing  Jane,  he  shouted  an  order  that  she 
pull  up  and  keep  out  of  the  scrimmage  likely  to  attend 
the  fight's  finish.  A  dozen  rods  farther  on  and  almost 
within  rope  reach,  he  called  to  Harford. 

"Out  of  the  way — I'm  going  to  hang  my  string  on 
him!" 

"What's  that?" 

The  real-estater,  who  was  showing  superb  riding 
form,  turned  in  his  saddle  and  leaned  to  listen,  as 
though  he  had  not  heard.  But  he  scarcely  could  have 
failed  to  see  the  noose  over  Pape's  head  circling  rounder 
and  faster  with  his  onward  rush.  His  next  move 
was  unaccountable.  As  the  Montanan's  rope  slithered 
suddenly  straight  ahead  from  an  aim  calculated  to  pick 
up  the  steer's  hind  hoof  for  a  fall,  the  Gothamite 
spurred  his  mount  and  cut  directly  across  it.  The 
throw  fell  short,  borne  out  of  line  by  the  body  of  Har- 
ford's  black  thoroughbred.  In  the  moment  lost  to 


238  LONESOME  TOWN 

free  it  from  entanglement  the  steer  took  to  the  rocks 
with  the  agility  of  a  mountain  goat. 

At  last  Pape  whipped  his  gun  from  its  under-coat 
holster.  Infuriated  by  this  second  exhibition  of  what 
was  either  extreme  stupidity  or  deliberate  malice,  he 
was  tempted  to  throw  down  on  the  human  rather  than 
the  splendid  Queer  Question  specimen,  now  well  up  the 
height,  which  he  had  wished  to  take  alive. 

But  he  did  not  press  the  trigger.  Although  a  steer 
more  or  less  was  incidental  in  his  life  and  cruelty  to 
animals  was  not  to  be  weighed  in  the  same  scales  with 
the  catastrophes  possible  in  a  continuance  of  the  stam- 
pede, second  thought  had  advised  the  improbability  of 
inflicting  a  vital  wound  in  that  huge  body  with  a  re- 
volver shot  from  the  rear.  Anything  short  of  a  coup 
de  grace  would  serve  only  to  increase  potential  dangers. 

Through  the  untangling  and  winding  of  his  rope  the 
Westerner  voiced  no  complaint  of  Harford's  interfer- 
ence, but  his  face  went  chalk-white  beneath  its  burn  and 
his  jaw  set  hard.  His  one  direct  glance  read  triumph 
in  the  New  Yorker's  grin  and  decided  him  to  finish  the 
battle  begun  on  the  Sturgis  front  steps  whenever  and 
wherever  he  could  spare  the  time.  Just  now 

"Wait  for  me  here — all  of  you,"  he  commanded  the 
three. 

Straightway  he  put  Polkadot  to  the  height. 

There  is  an  abruptness  and  complexity  about  the  up- 
heaval of  primary  rock  marking  the  park's  center  that 
has  been  of  advantage  to  renegades  since  that  great 
playground's  inception  in  the  late  50*5.  Although  lately 
most  of  the  caves  have  been  electric-lighted  and  railings 


BEEF  ON  THE  HOOF  239 

placed  on  the  more  dangerous  cliff-edge  paths,  there 
remain  dribbling  recesses  and  shadowy  spaces  between 
trap-rock  bowlders  which  suggest  hide-outs.  This  phys- 
ical condition  now  favored  the  Queer  Question  outlaw ; 
enabled  him  to  disappear  from  sight  before  Pape  had 
resumed  the  chase. 

The  painted  pony,  used  to  rocky  going  about  the 
borders  of  the  home  ranch,  did  not  hesitate  over  essay 
of  the  goat  trail  into  the  park's  rough  heart  taken  by 
the  red.  In  the  upward  scramble,  his  rider  shifted 
weight  in  the  saddle  according  to  the  conformation. 
Ultimately,  if  by  devious  ways,  they  gained  the  highest 
point  in  Manhattan's  eight-hundred-forty  acre  "para- 
dise"— the  snub-nosed  pinnacle  that  lies  off  Seventy- 
ninth  Street. 

Drawing  rein,  Pape  rose  in  the  stirrups  and  scanned 
the  upturned  region.  From  near  to  far,  until  his  gaze 
encompassed  the  bench-studded  walks  and  auto-crowded 
roadways  on  its  skirts,  he  noted  all  details.  So  re- 
mindful of  his  own  Yellowstone  in  physical  features 
was  this  tamed  wild-wood — and  yet  so  different! 

Within  its  comparatively  cramped  quarters  more  love 
— as  that  emotion  is  known  to  park-habitues — than  he 
had  seen  in  the  whole  vast  West  was  on  display.  The 
turfed  stretches  were  safety-razored,  rather  than  al- 
lowed to  grow  nature's  full  beards.  The  only  furred 
creatures  in  evidence — except  chipmunks  and  squirrels 
— were  worn  about  the  shoulders  of  fair  bipeds  instead 
of  prowling  on  four  feet,  uncured,  through  the  under- 
brush. From  the  steel  framework  of  a  new  sky-scraper 
that  rose  like  a  fire-stripped  forest  on  the  east  to  the 


240  LONESOME  TOWN 

turreted  peaks  of  a  range  of  apartment  houses  on  the 
west,  the  scene  invited  comparison  in  detail. 

But  Pape  had  no  time  for  detail  except  the  one  of 
a  live  dash  of  sorrel.  The  vital  greens  of  grass  and 
trees  were  rife,  the  deep  blues  of  lakes,  the  silver  of 
sunlight  on  the  distances  and  the  more  mysterious  regal 
purple  of  shadows.  So  far  as  concerned  any  splash 
of  tabasco  red,  however,  he  might  better  have  been 
seeking  a  maverick  on  the  outreaches  of  Hellroaring. 

Twice  had  he  shifted  his  point  of  survey  when  he  was 
rewarded  by  sudden  sight  of  the  steer  upon  a  rhododen- 
dron covered  mound,  not  more  than  a  city  block  away. 
Unconcernedly  the  long-horn  trotted  onto  the  scene, 
glanced  about,  then  slowed  to  a  walk  and  began  to 
browse.  The  hope  of  recapturing  the  fine  creature  unin- 
jured before  he  injured  others  re-awoke  in  Pape.  A 
cautious  approach,  a  forward  swish  of  rope,  a  forceful 
reaction —  Unless  luck  all  lay  with  his  too  rampant 
escutcheon,  the  chapter  might  be  closed. 

But  luck  this  afternoon  seemed  to  favor  quadrupeds. 
Just  as  Polkadot  slithered  toward  the  green  mound — 
just  as,  almost,  he  had  borne  his  man-mate  within 
roping  distance,  he  chanced  to  misplace  a  topply  bowlder 
and  sent  it  crashing  down  the  side  of  a  rock-ribbed 
gorge,  on  its  way  sounding  an  alarm  above  the  plash 
of  a  rainbowed  waterfall.  Again  the  steer  was  off. 
Again  the  bone-risking  pursuit  for  man  and  beast  was 
on. 

Around  hillocks,  hurdling  bowlders,  dodging  cones 
and  knobs  that  were  too  slippery  for  climbing,  ran 
the  race.  Once  the  brute  leader  miscalculated  the  space 


BEEF  ON  THE  HOOF  241 

between  a  striped  maple  and  a  pignut  hickory;  for  a 
moment  was  caught  and  held  in  a  vise-like  grip.  But 
before  his  pursuer  could  close  in,  he  had  managed  to 
wriggle  free,  shy  only  some  few  tufts  of  short  hair,  with 
no  loss  of  determination  to  retain  the  freedom  so  en- 
ergetically won. 

Bellowing  as  if  in  self -congratulation,  the  steer 
bore  away  in  an  untried  direction— one  that  led  up  a 
second  summit  almost  as  high  as  the  "top  of  the  park." 
That  this  already  was  preempted  by  a  group  of  busy 
beings  and  a  couple  of  two-wheeled  tool  cars  of  the 
miniature  Noah's  Ark  sort  used  by  highway  contractors, 
did  not  concern  the  runaway.  The  red  flag  that  waved 
above  one  of  the  supply  wagons  as  a  warning  of  blast- 
ing powder,  however,  did.  With  lowered  head  he 
charged,  scattering  the  workers  in  as  many  directions  as 
they  numbered. 

Pape  did  not  stop  to  consider  the  danger  of  an  ex- 
plosion should  the  steer  ram  into  the  explosive.  He 
spurred  forward,  his  rope  again  circumscribing  his 
head,  ready  for  a  throw  the  moment  opportunity 
offered. 

But  the  red  took  no  chances  of  so  soon  ending  his 
lively  afternoon.  Having  learned  to  beware  of  enemies 
vehicular  through  his  earlier  impact  against  that  Colum- 
bus Circle  trolley,  he  dodged  between  the  carts  and  bore 
off  to  the  westward. 

Pape,  in  his  following  rush  across  the  butte-top, 
glimpsed  a  face  that  almost  caused  him  to  draw  rein. 
Distorted  by  surprise  and  annoyance  was  the  expres- 
sion of  the  man  crouched  behind  the  powder  cart,  but 


242  LONESOME  TOWN 

not  enough  so  to  mask  one  of  the  hirelings  of  the 
Lauderdale  enemy. 

And  the  trees  then  whispering  on  the  breeze-swept 
height  were  poplars !  No  time  to  stop  to  count  them — 
no  attention  to  spare  for  speculation  as  to  whether  the 
roar  of  a  menagerie-imprisoned  Nubian  would  carry 
that  far.  Nevertheless,  the  concentration  of  the  rider, 
if  not  the  pace  of  his  mount,  slackened  somewhat 
through  the  continued  pursuit  of  their  wide-horned 
quarry. 

"And  a  bunch  of  beef  shall  lead  them,"  paraphrased 
Pape  close  to  one  of  Dot's  obligingly  back-waggled 
ears. 

An  hour  before  he  had  assured  Jane  Lauderdale  that 
his  steer,  as  well  as  he,  was  at  her  service.  Now  that 
vicarious  promise  had  been  redeemed — the  beef-brute 
sure  had  served  her!  The  opposition  party,  probably 
with  the  stolen  cryptogram  in  hand,  had  decided  on  this 
particular  butte  top  as  the  likeliest  location  of  treasure 
buried  by  eccentric  grand-sires  and  were  getting  under- 
way some  larger  scheme  of  excavation.  And  he,  in 
pursuit  of  his  too-live-stock,  was  started  on  another 
pursuit  of  Swinton  Welch  and  his  crew. 

Pape  felt  keen  to  turn  in  deed,  as  well  as  thought. 
Despite  the  red's  service  rendered,  he  breathed  a  prayer 
that  something  would  happen  to  the  beast — anything 
drastic  enough  to  end  his  career  as  pace  setter  to  the 
queerest  of  questioners. 

Answer  to  this  prayer  came  with  the  unexpectedness 
which  all  afternoon  had  been  marked — an  answer  de- 
cisive as  the  bluff-edge  ahead.  In  his  head-down  rush 


BEEF  OX  THE  HOOF  243 

the  excited  animal  had  not  seen  until  too  late  the  preci- 
pice that  marked  trail's  end.  With  a  conclusive  back 
flop  in  midair,  he  disappeared. 

Hot  on  his  hoofs,  just  out  of  rope  reach,  pounded 
Polkadot.  But  he,  with  super-instinct,  sensed  the  drop 
in  time  to  swerve  on  the  shale  of  the  brink.  Frantically 
he  then  began  a  struggle  to  overcome  its  shift. 

A  lake  lapped  the  bottom  of  the  void — one  of  the  sev- 
eral that  add  their  quiet  blues  and  rippling  whites  to 
the  color  scheme  of  the  park  and  of  a  Sunday  furnish 
exercise  for  as  many  enthusiastic  "crab-catchers"  as 
there  are  flat-bottomed  row  boats  to  rent.  Pape  saw  it 
from  cliff's  edge.  He  did  not  shiver — time  for  that  if 
they  went  down.  Flinging  from  the  saddle,  he  spread 
his  length  upon  the  ground,  digging  in  with  toes  and 
elbows  to  increase  the  weight  of  the  drag  made  by  his 
body.  As  determined  to  save  his  equine  pal  as  himself, 
he  threw  all  the  strength  of  his  arms  into  a  steady  pull 
upon  the  reins. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  MAN  BEHIND 

P APE'S  ride  down  from  the  height  of  No-Man's 
Land  was  rapid  as  his  advisedly  devious  course 
would  allow — rapid  from  his  desire  to  communicate  his 
steer-led  discovery  to  Jane  Lauderdale  with  the  least 
possible  delay  and  devious  for  two  reasons.  He  did 
not  wish  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  treasure  blasters 
until  after  the  girl  had  looked  them  over.  And  he  did 
not  wish  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  police  who  had 
hauled  his  run-amuck  escutcheon  out  of  the  lake  and 
taken  him  in  charge. 

On  reaching  the  meadow  where  he  had  asked  his 
quondam  pursuit  pardners  to  await  him,  he  could  sight 
none  of  them.  He  concluded  that  they  had  cut  for  the 
nearest  bridle  path  to  avoid  any  such  accounting  to  the 
park  authorities  as  had  been  exacted  after  last  evening's 
irregularities.  Stansbury  caution  advised  that  he  do 
likewise,  but  the  Pape  habit  of  riding  rough-shod  by  the 
short-cut  trail  overruled. 

A  demand  upon  him  strong  as  physical  force  or  a 
voiced  cry  caused  him  to  turn  and  peer  into  the  mouth 
of  a  sort  of  gulch  into  which  the  green  tailed  off.  There 
he  saw  some  one  gray-clad,  dismounted,  waiting — Jane, 
silently  calling  him. 

Spurring  to  her,  he  found  that  the  three  had  thought 

244 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  245 

it  advisable  to  take  cover  in  a  small  glen,  irregularly 
oval  in  shape,  that  would  have  served  excellently  as  a 
bull-ring  had  its  granite  sides  been  tiered  with  seats. 
Harford  and  Irene  still  sat  their  saddles,  the  girl  hold- 
ing rein  on  the  horse  ridden  by  Jane,  who  evidently 
had  reconnoitered  that  he  might  not  miss  them  on  his 
promised  return. 

Pape's  heart  quickened  from  appreciation  of  her 
fealty.  He  decided  if  possible  to  "cut  out"  her  alone 
from  her  undependable  "bunch"  and  show  her  the  dis- 
covery to  which  the  beef-brute  had  led  him — the  latest 
operation  of  the  Lauderdale  enemy. 

"Why  Not!  So  you're  safe?"  The  glad  cry  was 
Irene's,  as  she  pressed  up  to  him.  "But  my  pet  cow — 
don't  tell  me  you  let  him  get  away?" 

"The  'dar-rling'  is  on  the  road  to  the  calaboose — 
pinched  for  all  sorts  of  crimes,"  returned  Pape  unfeel- 
ingly. "You'll  need  a  larger  crop  of  bail  weeds  than 
you  possibly  can  gather  to  make  good  your  claim  to 
him." 

She,  with  a  voice  throb  of  regret:  "That's  what  I 
get  for  not  following.  A  girl's  got  to  keep  on  the  heels 
of  her  live-stock,  be  he  man  or  cow,  these  rapid  days. 
Think  of  me  sitting  here,  losing  out  as  if  I'd  been  born 
a  hundred  years  ago — obeying  a  mere  male!" 

Jane  had  remounted  and  now  rode  up. 

"But  if  the  steer  is  arrested,"  she  asked,  "how  do 
you  come  to  be  free?  Did  you  disown  him?" 

"Didn't  have  to."  Pape's  speech  was  that  of  a  man 
in  a  hurry.  "Trail's-end  for  the  red  was  an  air  pocket 
over  a  toy  lake.  He  made  a  magnificent  splash  and 


246  LONESOME  TOWN 

started  swimming  for  the  other  shore.  In  the  water 
he  was  about  as  dangerous  as  a  pollywog.  Proved  easy 
pickings  for  that  active  little  arrester  of  last  night, 
Pudge  O'Shay.  Another  policeman  sat  in  the  stern  of 
his  commandeered  row-boat,  over-working  a  piece  of 
rope.  I  wish  'em  joy  taking  my  escutcheon  in." 

He  omitted  report  of  his  own  desperate  feat  of  saving 
Polkadot  and  himself  a  similar  high-dive  off  the  bluff 
edge.  More  authoritatively  he  turned  back  to  Irene. 

"Likely  his  fate  will  make  you  feel  some  better  over 
that  obey  oversight.  If  you'd  like  to  get  the  habit, 
you'd  do  me  a  favor  by  hunting  up  the  village  pound 
and  paying  the  dues  put  on  that  shield  rampant  o'  mine. 
Here's  a  roll  that  ought  to  be  a  gent  cow's  sufficiency. 
And  you'd  favor  me  further  by  taking  the  family  friend 
along." 

"You  mean " 

"Your  Harfy.  Maybe  you  can  impress  him  with  the 
desirability  of  obeying  orders.  Got  to  confess  I  failed." 

"You  precious  puzzle!" — the  young  lady  of  to-day. 
"You  aren't —  Oh,  you  are — you  are!" 

"Are  I— just  what?" 

"Jealous,  you  silly!  Haven't  I  told  you  that  Harfy 
long  ago  gave  up  hopes  of  me,  that  he  is  as  naught 
to  me — ab-so-lutely  naught  more  than  a  friend 
who " 

"At  that,  he's  more  to  you  than  he's  shown  himself 
to  me,"  Pape  interposed  with  point. 

Harford  pulled  up  his  mount's  head  with  something 
the  decisive  fling  of  his  own.  "I  admit  that  I  give 
orders  better  than  take  them.  Come,  Jane.  Come, 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  247 

Irene.  Maybe  I  can  get  you  out  of  this  mess  yet  with- 
out unpleasant  consequences." 

"And  maybe,  Jane,  the  consequences  ain't  going  to 
be  so  plumb  unpleasant,"  Pape  contested  her  attention 
with  something  the  seriousness  he  had  shown  at  the  foot 
of  the  Sturgis'  steps.  "In  a  certain  some  one  else's  little 
matter  of  unfinished  business  that's  demanding  my  time 
and  attention  right  now,  I  have  pressing  need  of  one 
assistant.  Are  you — do  you  feel — well,  willing?" 

"But,  Why  Not,  why  not  me?"  Irene  prevented  im- 
mediate reply  from  her  cousin ;  spurred  her  mount  close 
beside  the  obviously  fastidious  Polkadot ;  at  last  dropped 
her  battered-looking  bunch  of  roses  to  clasp  the  West- 
erner's arm.  "You  know  that  I — And  I  know  that  you 
— Don't  you,  dar-rling — or  do  you  ?  I  am  sure  that  I'm 
not  ashamed  of — of — You  know.  That  is,  I  ain't  if- 
you  aren't.  Of  course  Jane  is  calmer  than  I,  but  who 
wants  to  be  calm  nowadays?  I'm  the  one  that's  willing 
and  then  some  to  tag  along  with  you  into  difficulty 
and  danger  and " 

Harford,  heated  of  face  and  manner,  interrupted. 

"No  one's  going  to  tag  with  him  into  any  more  diffi- 
culty or  danger.  You  girls  are  going  to  keep  your 
agreement,  aren't  you  ?  You're  both  coming  peacefully 
along  with  me,  now  that  I've  let  you  wait  long  enough 
to  see  that  this  person,  rightly  entitled  'The  Impossible/ 
is  safe." 

"Let  VLB  wait — you  let  us?"  Irene  flared.  "A  dozen 
of  you  couldn't  have  forced  me  to  desert  him,  Millsy 
Harford — not  whilst  I  had  my  health  and  strength !" 

Despite  her  ardor,  Pape  managed  to  free  his  arm 


248  LONESOME  TOWN 

of  her  hold.  With  his  eyes  he  re-asked  the  question  put 
to  Jane.  He  could  see  that  she  was  confused,  annoyed, 
justifiably  suspicious  of  the  youngster  vamp's  proprie- 
torship. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  any  unfinished  business  of 
Miss  Lauderdale,"  Harford  added  with  augmented  in- 
solence. "I  think  she  will  concede  that  I  am  more  com- 
petent and  quite  as  willing  as  you  to  attend  any  and 
all  such.  On  my  advice  she  has  given  up  her  search 
for  a  mythical  needle  mythically  buried  in  this  park 
haystack.  Haven't  you,  Jane?  Haven't  you,  dear?" 

Pape,  while  listening  to  the  man,  looked  to  the  wom- 
an; gained  her  gaze,  saw  her  lips  form  to  an  unvoiced 
"No."  Fresh  love  for  her  and  fresh  hate  for  him — 
fresh  suspicion  and  the  courage  thereof  possessed  him. 

"Meantime,  I  suppose,  your  hirelings  are  tumbling 
up  this  park  haystack  according  to  the  directions  of  that 
cryptogram  you  took  from  Mrs.  Sturgis'  wall-safe?" 

"You  damned  blighter,  you  dare  accuse  me  of  theft  ?" 

Pape  laughed  into  the  snarled  demand.  "And  why 
not  accuse?  I  don't  like  you  and  I  don't  trust  you. 
Miss  Lauderdale's  unfinished  business  is  safer  in  my 
hands  than  yours.  You  lie  when  you  say  that  she  has 
transferred  it  to  you.  She  knows  who  is  the  better 
man.  In  case  you're  not  sure,  I  am  ready  to  show." 

"No  readier  than  I,  you  weak  fish  out  of  water." 
Harford's  voice  shook  into  higher,  harder  notes.  "You 
couldn't  very  well  call  me  a  thief  and  a  liar  without 
showing.  As  I  told  you  this  morning  you'll  have  to 
answer  to  me  if  you  raise  any  more  of  a  row  around 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  249 

Miss  Lauderdale.     When  will  you  give  me  a  chance 

"Now?"  Pape  suggested. 

"You  don't  mean  here,  before  the  girls,  in  a  public 
place  where  the  cops  are  likely " 

"Why  not?" 

So  the  Queer  Questioner's  battle-cry! 

Lightly  though  he  laughed,  he  was  heavy  with  hate, 
again  moved  by  that  battleful  mania  which  is  the  sanity 
of  love.  To  him  specific  insults  did  not  matter  so 
much.  The  importance  of  the  whys,  wheres  or  whences 
grew  all  at  once  negligible.  To  have  it  out  with  the 
man  who  contested  his  claim  to  his  woman — to  bring 
him  down  just  on  general  principles — to  wring  him 
and  rend  him  and  trample  him,  if  need  be,  into  ac- 
knowledgment of  his  supreme  impertinence — that  was 
his  present  task. 

A  thought-flash  of  the  moment  before  had  thrown 
rays  of  suspicion  several  ways  through  Pape's  mind. 
Mills  Harford  knew  of  the  Montana  Gusher  swindle, 
as  indicated  by  his  jibe  of  that  morning  about  an  "oil- 
stock  shark."  Being  a  real-estater  of  considerable  suc- 
cess, he  might  be  a  principal  in  that  fraud.  Certainly 
he  did  not  seem  the  man  to  have  been  a  victim. 

The  idea  that  this  "most  prominent"  suitor  of  Jane 
might  be  the  leader  of  the  anti-Lauderdales  was  sug- 
gested by  his  bold  attempt  to  deter  the  girl  from  further 
investigation.  That  she  herself  considered  him  a  friend 
was  in  itself  significant.  He  could  not  better  have 
covered  in  perpetrating  an  inimical  act  toward  her  than 
by  first  having  won  her  confidence  with  flattery  as  ex- 


250  LONESOME  TOWN 

pertly  administered  as  though  he  were  indeed  one  of 
those  villainous  "perfect  lovers"  with  whom  honest 
heroes  have  to  cope  on  stage  and  screen. 

As  an  intimate  of  the  household,  Harford  probably 
was  in  position  to  know  the  worth  of  the  late  eccen- 
tric's buried  "bone."  He  might  well  have  instigated 
that  "inside"  safe  job  at  the  Sturgis'  and  been  respon- 
sible for  the  trailing  of  the  poke-bonnet  lady  to  the 
East  Sixty-third  Street  hide-out,  this  last  particularly 
pointed  by  his  later  appearance  there  with  his  lawyer. 
And  here  in  the  glen,  just  as  the  out-croppings  showed 
plain  the  way  to  treasure's  lead,  he  was  ready  to  pre- 
vent Jane  by  force  from  continuing  her  park  prospect- 
ing while  the  excavations  were  underway  on  the 
heights.  All  the  circumstantials  were  suspicious. 

Why  not  now?  In  view  of  possibilities,  it  had  not 
taken  one  of  Pape's  predisposition  for  action  long  to 
decide  that  the  then  and  there  were  none  too  soon  for 
adjustment  of  their  relative  status.  He  and  his  self- 
selected  could  spare  time,  he  guessed,  for  a  bout  that 
would  settle — well,  what  it  would  settle. 

"Climb  down.  Let's  get  it  over  before  some  lady- 
like rule  of  this  old-woman  town  of  yours  trips  us  up." 

Pape  was  in  the  act  of  dismounting,  in  accordance 
with  his  own  suggestion,  when  Harford  executed  a 
surprise  that  nearly  crowded  him  to  a  fall.  The  attack 
was  abetted  by  the  inherent  hostility  of  a  thoroughbred 
horse  for  cross-breeds  of  the  range.  As  though  trained 
for  just  such  participation,  the  blue-blood  rammed  into 
the  piebald,  bringing  his  rider  within  tempting  reach 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  251 

of  the  enemy  ear.    A  whack  more  dizzying  than  dan- 
gerous followed  the  equine  impact. 

"So  that's — the  game?"  Pape  gasped  during  his  re- 
covery. "You've  got — edge  on  me — with  your — polo 
punch.  But  swords  or  pistols!  I'm  ready  for — any 
old  fight  that's  fought — Harfy  dar-rling." 

He  threw  back  into  the  leather,  where  he  felt  as  much 
at  home  as  any  man  and  jabbed  his  right  foot  back  into 
its  stirrup.  Swinging  his  calico  cayuse  he  pressed  back 
the  horses  astride  which  the  two  girls  sat — Jane  with 
pale,  set  face,  like  a  marble  of  avengement ;  Irene  glitter- 
eyed  and  high-hued  from  excitement.  For  a  duel  of 
chevaliers  this  particular  squared-circle  hidden  by  Na- 
ture must  be  cleared.  When  the  fair  audience  was 
crowded  to  one  side  in  "reserved"  quadruped  standing 
room,  West  whirled  and  bore  down  on  East. 

Fights  of  diverse  sorts  had  place  in  the  variegated 
past  of  Peter  Pape.  Rough-and-tumbles,  knock-down- 
and-drag-outs,  rim-fires  or  lightning-draws — all  such 
he  had  survived.  But  no  past  emergency  had  he  bat- 
tled by  fists  on  horseback.  Once  he  had  accepted  the 
challenge,  however,  the  form  of  fight  looked  fairer 
than  at  first  blow,  since  it  was  unlikely  that  its  insti- 
gator had  more  experience  in  stirrup  battling  than  he. 
As  for  rules,  he,  for  one,  felt  quite  as  hazy  as  he  would 
have  in  some  tilting  bout  of  lance-laden  knight  of  old. 
They  would  have  to  make  up  the  rules  as  they  went 
along,  he  supposed. 

"At  'em,  Dot!"  he  wirelessed  the  frecked  ear  laid 
back  in  rancor  against  a  brushed-teeth  nip  of  the  over- 
groomed  enemy  mount.  Not  a  heel  urge  did  the  pie- 


252  LONESOME  TOWN 

bald  need,  any  more  than  a  jerk  of  the  rein  which, 
already,  Pape  had  twisted  about  the  saddle  horn.  With 
a  horse  keen  to  knee  pressure  as  was  this  cow-pony,  he 
had  the  advantage  of  both  hands  free  for  swing  or  jab. 

Straight  at  the  aristocrats  went  the  rough  pair. 
Polkadot  landed  a  shoulder  impact  that  all  but  toppled 
the  spindle-legged  black.  The  while,  his  man-mate's 
bruising  left  accomplished  contact  with  the  Harford 
nose.  At  the  "claret"  which  oozed  from  a  feature  per- 
fect enough  in  outline  to  have  been  inherited  from 
classic  Greek,  Irene  uttered  a  cry  in  which  sounded  fear 
for  the  family  friend  and  admiration  of  the  person  im- 
possible. Jane  sat  her  horse,  silent  and  outwardly  com- 
posed, except  that  the  color  had  left  even  her  lips. 

In  the  break-away,  the  black  kicked  out  viciously. 
But  the  pinto,  with  skill  acquired  in  growing-up  days 
when  he  had  trained  with  an  Arizona  outlaw  band, 
flirted  his  vari-colored  rump  out  of  harm's  way.  Al- 
ready the  battle  was  bi-fold,  the  two  men  its  insti- 
gators, their  mounts  responsible  for  footwork. 

On  the  second  engagement,  not  counting  that  initial 
surprise  attack  which  had  bordered  on  the  foul,  Har- 
ford handled  his  thoroughbred  into  a  position  of  such 
advantage  that  he  drove  a  right  to  Pape's  jaw.  Rocked 
from  crown  to  toe,  the  Westerner  saved  himself  a  fall 
by  going  into  just  such  a  clinch  as  he  would  have  tried 
had  they  been  balanced  each  on  his  own  two  feet  in- 
stead of  his  horse's  four. 

There  was  something  superstitious  in  the  look  which 
distorted  Harford's  good  looks,  as  he  found  himself 
held  helpless  while  his  opponent  rallied — a  look  which 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  253 

suggested  that  he  had  put  his  all  into  that  upper-cut 
and  was  worse  nerve-shocked  than  was  its  recipient 
physically  over  failure  to  bring  decision.  There  being 
no  referee  to  command  a  break,  Pape  came  out  of  the 
clinch  when  he  was  ready,  with  the  "spinner"  aid  of  a 
horse  that  turned  ends  on  signal — and  all  within  the 
space  of  a  blanket. 

The  break-away,  unexpected  by  the  Eastern  immacu- 
late, reduced  him  sartorially  to  a  plane  with  the  West- 
erner. His  stock  and  part  of  his  striped  silk  shirt  re- 
mained in  the  Pape  paws,  torn  from  his  neck  and  back 
when  Polkadot  had  capered.  His  dishevelment  now 
matched  that  which  Pape  had  acquired  in  his  struggle 
against  momentum  upon  the  cliff. 

The  equine  pair  also  seemed  possessed  of  battling 
madness.  For  a  time  they  fox-trotted  about,  keeping 
their  riders  beyond  each  other's  reach,  while  they 
fought  an  instinctive  duel  of  their  own.  The  black 
proved  a  fore-and-after — pawed  out  ladylike  blows 
with  slender  forefeet,  then  lofted  his  heels  in  a  way 
that  jarred  the  human  aboard  him  more  than  the  wary 
target.  At  a  familiar  knee  signal,  Polkadot  suddenly 
rose  on  his  hindlegs  as  if  for  that  bronco  evolution 
known  as  sunfishing. 

"Look  out — he'll  topple  back  and  crush  you !" 

The  outcry  was  forced  from  Jane. 

As  at  once  transpired,  it  proved  unnecessary.  The 
piebald  had  no  intention  of  falling  back  upon  his  man- 
pal.  Instead,  he  hopped  forward  on  hind  legs  until  he 
had  the  black  cornered,  then  flung  down  with  all  his 
weight.  The  thoroughbred,  crushed  to  his  knees,  es- 


254  LONESOME  TOWN 

caped  by  sheer  agility  the  sharp-shod  hoofs;  wriggled 
his  fringe-bedecked  neck  and  satin  shoulders  from  out 
the  commoner's  clutch. 

Dumbly  infuriated  by  his  failure  and  urged  by  an 
imperative  signal,  Polkadot  pressed  such  advantage  as 
was  left  him.  By  sparing  the  black  no  time  to  re- 
cover, he  gave  Pape  his  opportunity.  Head  to  tail  the 
horses  met  with  terrific  impact.  For  the  second  or  so 
in  which  both  staggered,  a  stirrup  each  locked  crush- 
ingly. 

Followed  two  fist  blows  from  Pape,  so  nearly  simul- 
taneous that  no  on-looker  could  have  been  sure  which 
did  the  work.  He  himself  knew  that  his  right  had  led 
by  enough  of  a  count  to  jolt  his  rival's  head  into  fair 
position  for  his  gnarled  left.  Far  out  from  saddle  he 
leaned  to  put  into  that  follow  his  last  ounce  of  power. 
The  blow  landed  nicely  under  the  Easterner's  cleft  chin. 
As  the  horses  sprang  apart,  Harford  toppled  and  fell. 

What  would  have  been  a  clean  knock-out  of  which 
no  fistic  specialist  need  have  been  ashamed  was  spoiled 
by  a  mishap.  The  falling  man's  right  foot  did  not 
clear  the  trap-like  stirrup  of  his  English  saddle.  The  be- 
havior of  his  thoroughbred  too,  was  unfortunate.  In 
a  frenzy  of  alarm  the  black  sprang  forward,  then 
dashed  for  the  entrance  of  the  glen,  dragging  his  rider. 
Probably  the  fact  that  Harford  was  clear  out,  his  body 
inert,  saved  him  an  immediate  hoof  wound,  but  there 
was  scarcely  a  chance  of  his  survival  if  hauled  over  the 
rocks  of  the  entrance.  His  horse,  however,  did  not 
reach  that  barrier.  Having  his  rival  dragged  to  injury 
or  death  was  no  more  a  part  of  Pape's  program  than 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  255 

was  murder  a  component  of  his  hate.  Before  the  black 
had  covered  two  rods,  Polkadot  was  after  him,  for 
once  dug  by  the  spurs  which  he  had  every  right  to  con- 
sider worn  for  decorative  purposes  only.  One  hundred 
yards  of  green,  with  the  sharp  teeth  of  the  rock  trap  but 
fifty  farther  on,  brought  the  racing  beasts  neck  and 
neck — brought  Pape  to  an  equestrian  exploit  conceived 
on  the  way. 

He  kicked  his  right  foot  free  of  the  wooden  stirrup ; 
encircled  the  saddle  horn  with  his  knee;  throwing  his 
weight  on  the  left  stirrup,  leaned  low.  To  retrieve  a 
grounded  hat  or  handkerchief  from  the  saddle  at  gallop 
pace  he  regarded  as  a  simple  form  of  exercise.  To 
seize  and  loft  an  unconscious  man  of  Harford's  build 
was  difficulty  multiplied  by  his  dead  weight  of  some 
hundred-seventy  pounds. 

"Impossible!" 

Pape's  jaw  set  with  the  thought-challenge  which  had 
taken  him  over  the  top  of  so  varied  contretemps — the 
word  applied  to  him  with  such  significance  by  the  snob 
whom  he  was  about  to  save. 

Why  not  achieve  the  impossible  now  as  heretofore? 
He  put  the  demand  on  his  tried  muscles,  risked  two 
bounds  of  the  black  in  making  sure  that  his  grip  upon 
the  collar  of  Harford's  coat  was  firm,  then  heaved  upon 
his  burden.  The  initial  inches  of  clearance  were  hard- 
est— broke  his  nails,  tortured  his  fingers,  almost 
snapped  the  sinews  in  his  arm.  Not  until  his  right  hand 
was  able  to  join  his  left  did  he  breathe  again. 

And  just  in  time  was  his  double  hold  secured. 

So  quickly  did  the  black  horse  swerve  that  the  calico 


256  LONESOME  TOWN 

could  not  synchronize.  For  a  moment  Harford's  body 
and  the  taut  stirrup  were  a  strained  connecting  link. 
Then  Polkadot  edged  nearer  and  Pape  was  able  to  lift 
the  unconscious  figure  to  a  position  of  partial  support 
across  his  mount's  forequarters. 

But  the  stirrup  still  held,  its  iron  shoe  having  been 
forced  into  the  leather  of  Harford's  boot  and  fastened 
as  in  a  vise.  They  might  be  coupled  together  until  the 
black  ran  down  unless 

The  stretch  of  strap  gave  Pape  an  idea.  Quick  al- 
most as  the  thought  he  drew  his  gun ;  took  three  shots ; 
severed  the  link.  Turning,  he  rode  the  doubly  bur- 
dened piebald  back  in  the  direction  of  the  two  girls, 
while  the  thoroughbred  sought  exclusiveness  in  the  far 
reaches  of  the  glen.  Probably  because  of  the  frequent 
back-fire  of  motors  and  the  blow-out  of  tires  which  at 
times  make  Central  Park  suggest  a  West  Virginia  min- 
ing town  on  fusillade  day,  the  curiosity  of  no  sparrow 
cop  had  been  excited  by  the  gun  reports. 

Much  more  gently  than  he  had  gathered  up  his 
enemy,  Pape  now  lowered  him  to  the  turf  and  flung  out 
of  saddle  to  a  kneeling  position.  A  cursory  examina- 
tion showed  Harford's  fine-featured  face  to  be  some- 
what marred  by  fist  blows.  But  his  body,  so  far  as  the 
emergency  first  aid  could  determine,  was  intact.  The 
last  fear  of  a  possible  skull  fracture  was  dissipated 
when  the  brown  eyes  quivered  open  and  the  flaccid  lips 
began  to  move. 

"He's  trying  to  speak,  Why  Not,"  exclaimed  Irene, 
a  moment  ahead  of  Jane  in  dismounting.  "Listen,  do! 
In  the  novels  I've  read  they  always  say  the  most  impor- 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  257 

tant  things  when  they're  coming  out  of — of  a  hiatus  or 
whatever  you  call  it." 

Pape  leaned  close  enough  to  grasp  part  of  the  effort- 
ful mumble. 

"Didn't  steal — anything.  Sorry  called  you — names. 
Irene  loves " 

That  was  as  far  as  Harford  got  at  the  moment. 
And  it  was  well,  as  the  perquisitory  miss  demanded  the 
context  of  his  utterances. 

Now,  the  telling  of  lies  was  abhorrent  to  Peter  Pape. 
Seldom  did  he  consider  recourse  to  the  slightest  mis- 
representation even  when  straight-out  talk  made  com- 
plexities. But  he  found  himself  tempted  by  an  inspira- 
tion as  to  how  he  might  repay  both  enemy  man  and 
enemy  girl  for  the  trouble  they  had  caused  him  with  the 
same  slight  elaboration  of  the  truth. 

"It  is  your  name  on  his  lips,"  he  informed  the  ro- 
mantic miss.  "  'Irene' — you  were  his  first  thought. 
You're  the  one  he  wants,  my  child,  the  one  he  calls  for." 

"Oh!  Oh!"  she  murmured,  her  dark  eyes  expand- 
ing. "Then  I  haven't  been  wrong — Harfy  has  cared 
for  me  in  secret  all  along?" 

She  knelt  down  beside  the  fallen  family  friend; 
hovered  over  him  in  an  egoistic  ecstasy. 

"Poor  dar-rling — how  you  must  have  loved  me  to 
have  hidden  it  so  well !  And  all  the  time  I  thought  that 
you —  Oh,  it  is  thrilling  that  you  should  have  pre- 
tended to  regard  another,  when  in  reality  your  grande 
passion?  was  for  me  alone!  If  you'd  been  killed,  I 
never  could  have  forgiven  myself — that  is,  I  couldn't 
if  I  had  found  out  afterwards.  When  I  think  what  you 


258  LONESOME  TOWN 

must  have  suffered,  I  wonder  how  I  ever  can  re- 
pay " 

"You've  got  a  darn'  good  chance  right  here  and 
now,"  interrupted  Pape,  as  a  finishing  touch  to  his  ruse 
for  punishing  them  and  cutting-out  Jane  from  the 
"bunch."  "He's  coming  around  fast — ain't  in  any 
physical  danger  if  his  heart  is  cheered  up.  JTis  better 
far  for  him  that  you  two  shouldest  be  alone  when  he 
comes  clean  to.  You  stay  here  and  nurse  him — you 
owe  him  at  least  that  much.  When  he's  able  to  ride 
make  for  the  bridle  path  and  home.  The  black  is  quiet- 
ing down.  You  can  catch  him  without  trouble.  And 
don't  be  afraid  of  pouring  out  your  love  and  affection 
upon  the  poor  man.  It  is  your  bounden  duty  as  a 
woman  and  a  vamp.  Love  may  save  his  life." 

"But  you,  Why  Not?" 

A  sudden  fear  lest  she  lose  the  old  in  the  new  ac- 
quirement strained  her  face. 

"I'll  bear  up  some  way.  I,  too,  still  have  my  health 
and  strength."  He  tried  to  mask  his  triumph  in  a  dark, 
desperate  frown.  "Come,  Jane.  You  and  I  are  no 
longer  needed  here." 

He  forestalled  protest  by  remounting;  gave  the  older 
girl  a  half-humorous,  wholly-apologetic  look;  led  the 
way  toward  the  heights. 

Five  minutes  later  they  dropped  rein  in  a  clump  of 
warty-ridged  hackberry  bushes  and  started  on  afoot. 
On  the  way  he  made  succinct  report  of  his  discovery 
during  the  pursuit  of  the  red.  At  that,  he  had  not  pre- 
pared her — indeed,  was  far  from  prepared  himself — 


THE  MAN  BEHIND  259 

for  what  they  soon  saw  from  cover  at  the  edge  of  the 
mesa. 

The  stage  was  set  as  on  his  dash  across  it  in  pursuit 
of  the  run-amuck.  But  the  actors — half  a  dozen  in 
number,  inclusive  of  Swinton  Welch,  and  none  in  la- 
borer's garb — were  now  grouped  about  one  of  the  sup- 
ply carts.  Attention  centered  upon  a  man  who  sat  the 
tail  of  this  cart — one  who  had  not  been  about  during 
Pape's  preview.  His  pudgy  hands  held  open  before 
him  a  sheet  of  paper  from  which  he  was  reading  aloud. 

The  pair  in  the  bush  stared  at  this  man  in  amazement 
too  breath-taking  for  speech.  Then  their  glances  met, 
as  if  to  read  substantiation,  each  in  the  other's  eyes. 

So,  then,  it  was  true !  The  generalissimo  issuing  in- 
structions was  the  long-time  friend  and  family  coun- 
selor, ex-Judge  Samuel  Allen. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LOST  YET  WON 

WITH  the  stealth  of  a  Blackfoot  brave,  Peter  Pape 
approached  the  powder  cart  in  temporary  use 
as  a  rostrum.  Jane  he  had  left  where  her  safety  no 
longer  troubled  him.  His  entire  attention  reached  for- 
ward. Having  gained  the  cover  of  a  venerable  cotton- 
wood  whose  drooping  catkins  fringed  the  shafts  of  the 
lowering  sun  he  stopped  and  deliberately  listened,  ex- 
cused by  the  necessity  of  discovering  just  what  was 
underway. 

The  slow,  accented  perusal  of  the  apple-cheeked  little 
big  man  of  law  was  holding  the  attention  of  his  assort- 
ment of  thugs  to  a  degree  favorable  for  a  surprise 
assault. 

"Eighteen  and  twelve  will  show 
The  spot.     Begin  below. 
Above  the  crock 
A  block  will  rock, 
As  rocks  wrong's  overthrow." 

To  the  last  word  the  verse  carried  to  Pape's  ears, 
metered  to  match  the  two  lines  recited  to  him  by  Jane 
from  her  memory  of  the  mysterious,  stolen  cryptogram. 
There  seemed  no  reason  to  doubt  that  Allen  was  read- 
ing the  rhymed  instructions  of  the  late  Lauderdale  ec- 
centric. 

260 


LOST  YET  WON  261 

Swinton  Welch  was  first  to  offer  thin-voiced  com- 
plaint against  the  poem's  ambiguity. 

"That  third  verse  strikes  me  as  the  hardest  yet, 
judge.  What  do  you  reckon  them  figures  mean?  I 
don't  see  as  there's  any  way  to  decide  whether  they 
stand  for  rods  or  yards  or  feet.  Eighteen  from  what? 
Twelve  to  which  ?  Or  do  you  suppose,  now,  it  means 
that  the  spot  is  eighteen-by-twelve  ?" 

With  a  wave  of  one  chubby  hand  the  lawyer  dis- 
missed these  demands.  "When  quite  a  young  man  I 
knew  the  writer  of  this  rhyme.  It  is  characteristic  that 
he  should  have  put  everything  as  vaguely  as  possible. 
He'd  have  made  a  wonderful  detective,  he  was  such  a 
genius  at  involving  instead  of  solving  things.  I'm 
relying  quite  a  bit  on  my  own  gumption  in  the  selec- 
tion of  this  place.  But  I  feel  sure  that  I  am  right  at 
last.  We're  on  a  height,  surrounded  by  the  requisite 
number  of  poplars,  aren't  we?  The  noises  we  hear 
from  the  city,  spread  about  on  every  hand,  might  be 
called  by  poetic  license  any  kind  of  a  roar.  And  the 
whole  place  is  shelved  with  rock.  Since  we  can't  seem 
to  solve  those  figures,  let's  blow  off  the  entire  top  if 
necessary  and  trust  to  the  integrity  of  the  'crock.'  You 
arranged  for  the  acetylene  lights,  Duffy?" 

"They'll  be  here  before  dusk." 

Pape  could  not  see  the  speaker  from  his  cover  point, 
but  recognized  the  voice  of  him  of  the  vegetable  ears 
recently  bested  in  combat. 

"Have  you  thought  about  the  crowd  the  flare's  going 
to  attract,  Mr.  Allen  ?"  the  pugilist  wanted  to  know. 


262  LONESOME  TOWN 

"I've  arranged  for  the  police  to  stand  guard  over 
us." 

The  complacency  with  which  the  lawyer  made  this 
assertion  had  a  nerving  effect  upon  Pape.  His  frame 
straightened  with  a  jerk.  His  muscles  tightened.  His 
thoughts  sped  up.  If  the  police  were  enlisted  with  the 
enemy  through  political  "pull"  of  the  ex-judge,  it  be- 
hooved him  to  decide  at  once  upon  the  exact  nature  of 
such  changes  as  he,  personally,  might  be  able  to  effect 
in  the  afternoon's  program.  Perhaps  too  close  upon 
decision,  he  acted. 

"I  have  permits  from  the  commissioner  to  cover 
every  emergency,"  the  lawyer  continued.  "I  can  prom- 
ise you  that  there'll  be  no  interference  this  time, 
even " 

"Except  from  me!" 

The  correction  issued  from  behind  the  cotton  wood 
and  was  followed  immediately  by  the  appearance  of 
Peter  Pape. 

Samuel  Allen's  assurance  gurgled  in  his  throat  and 
the  apple-red  faded  from  his  cheeks  as  he  slid  from  his 
seat  on  the  cart-tail  to  face  the  unfriendly,  blue-black 
eye  of  a  Colt. 

"The — the  impossible  person!"  he  stammered. 

"The  possible  person,  don't  you  mean,  judge?  It's 
time  you  got  the  general  little  scheme  of  me,  even 
though  I  do  look  mussed  up  this  crowded  afternoon." 

Pape's  jocularity  was  a  surface  effect.  The  serious 
cooperation  of  his  every  thought  and  muscle  would  be 
needed  if  he  won  against  such  odds.  With  his  gun  he 
waved  back  two  of  the  crew  who,  evidently  more  accus- 


LOST  YET  WON  263 

tomed  to  the  glance  of  the  unfriendly  eye  than  was  the 
jurist,  were  edging  nearer.  Still  grinning  with  pseudo- 
pleasantry,  he  tried  to  guard  against  attack  from  be- 
hind by  backing  toward  the  second  of  the  ark-bedded 
carts. 

"This  morning,  Allen,  you  got  me  out  of  limbo 
through  your  drag  with  the  law,"  he  continued.  "Didn't 
hope  for  a  so-soon  opportunity  to  refund  that  debt. 
But  don't  think  I  ain't  ready  with  the  interest." 

"The  only  way  to  keep  you  out  of  new  trouble  is  to 
leave  you  in  the  old,"  snorted  the  small  big  man.  "If 
this  gun-play  is  for  my  amusement,  I'll  say  that  your 
methods  are  as  perverted  as  your  sense  of  humor. 
You're  about  as  practical  as  a  Bolshevist.  Pray  desist 
Also — pardon  my  frankness — get  out  while  you  can — 
out  of  trouble  that  doesn't  concern  you  in  the 
slightest." 

"Pardon  my  frankness — "  Pane,  too,  could  feign 
politeness — "but  this  trouble  does  concern  me  in  the 
greatest.  I  hate  being  in  your  debt.  I  feel  I  should 
take  this  chance  to  pay  and  save  you !" 

"Save  me — from  what?" 

Although  the  Colt  still  held  his  gaze,  the  jurist  put 
the  question  with  manifest  relief.  Argument  was  his 
stock  in  profession — perhaps  he  hoped  from  that. 

Pape  couldn't  restrain  an  out-loud  chuckle,  so  near 
did  he  seem  to  the  consummation  of  his  promises  to 
Jane.  "Just  you  hand  over  Granddad  Lauderdale's 
crypt  and  those  carte-blank  permits  and  I'll  save  you 
from  being  your  own  lawyer  defending  a  charge  of 
before-and-after  burglary.  Urge  'em  upon  me,  judge, 


264  LONESOME  TOWN 

then  call  off  your  crew  and  vamoose  pronto — which  is 
roof-of- America  for  get  out  quick  yourself." 

Allen  sent  a  glance  of  appeal  among  his  hirelings,  but 
elicited  no  response.  To  them  there  was,  in  truth,  a 
stronger  appeal  in  the  careless  way  the  Westerner 
handled  his  "hardware."  They  looked  to  be  gunmen 
themselves,  but  of  the  metropolitan  sort  that  shoot 
singly  from  behind  or  in  concert  before.  Certain  was 
it  that  some  one  would  get  punctured  did  the  revolver 
speak  and  each  was  concerned  lest  he  be  the  ill-fated 
human  "tire." 

Allen  seemed  left  to  his  own  devices.  Crumpling  the 
cryptic  sheet  in  one  hand,  he  started  slowly  forward. 
Pape  lifted  his  foot  for  a  stride  along  the  cart-side. 
But  some  time  elapsed  before  the  sole  of  his  boot  again 
met  mother  earth.  With  the  suddenness  of  most  suc- 
cessful attacks  on  a  rear  guarded  over-confidently,  the 
one  leg  which,  for  the  moment,  supported  his  weight 
was  jerked  from  under  with  a  violence  that  pitched  him 
face  forward. 

As  he  fell  his  revolver  exclaimed,  but  only  an  indig- 
nant monosyllable.  A  veritable  avalanche  of  humanity 
descended  upon  him,  hard  in  effect  as  the  rocky  ground 
in  their  attack  with  gun  butts  and  fists.  For  a  second 
time  he  had  miscalculated  odds ;  seemed  at  last  to  have 
met  defeat.  In  the  act,  as  it  were,  of  seizing  the  Stur- 
gis'  loot,  he  was  put  out  by  a  blow  from  a  leather  black- 
jack brought  down  upon  his  defenseless  head  by  an 
expert  hand. 

Some  minutes  must  have  passed  before  his  brain 
again  functioned.  In  the  interim  he  had  been  "hog- 


LOST  YET  WON  265 

tied,"  despite  the  fact  that,  literally,  the  knots  were  not 
tied  according  to  the  Hoyle  of  the  range.  The  first 
thing  he  noticed  on  opening  his  eyes  was  that  Judge 
Allen  had  been  stripped  of  his  coat  and  the  left  sleeves 
of  his  outer  and  under  shirts  cut  away  to  give  place  to 
a  bandage.  Evidently  his  instinctive  pull  on  the  trigger 
had  sent  a  bullet  into  his  preferred  target,  although  lack 
of  aim  had  made  it  a  wing  shot. 

That  the  moment  was  one  in  which  he  would  best 
"play  Injun"  was  Pape's  first  cautionary  thought.  Not 
even  to  ease  his  painfully  cramped  limbs  did  he  at- 
tempt to  move  a  muscle.  After  his  first  roving  look, 
his  eyes  fixed,  with  an  acquisitive  gleam  at  variance 
with  his  helplessness,  upon  something  protruding  from 
the  inside  pocket  of  a  coat  that  lay  upon  the  ground 
near  his  hurting  head. 

The  something,  or  one  very  like  it,  he  had  seen  be- 
fore— a  folded  document  engraved  in  brown  ink.  The 
coat  also  he  recognized  as  that  torn  off  the  wounded 
lawyer. 

He  next  discovered  that  his  ears,  as  well  as  eyes, 
could  function.  Without  moving,  he  allowed  them  to 
be  filled  with  sound  notes  upon  the  disaster  which  had 
overtaken  him. 

The  ex-judge:  " — and  I  congratulate  you,  Duffy, 
on  as  neat  a  turn-table  as  I've  ever  seen." 

Even  more  than  to  the  unctuousness  of  the  voice  did 
Pape  object  to  the  jurist's  punctuation  by  boot  upon 
that  section  of  his  own  anatomy  within  easiest  reach. 
His  indignation,  however,  was  diverted  by  the  assur- 


266  LONESOME  TOWN 

ance  that  it  was  his  enemy  of  the  cauliflower  ear  who 
had  brought  about  his  fall. 

"Easier  than  throwing  a  seven  with  your  own  bones, 
your  honor,"  Duffy  answered.  "Wild-and-woolly  here 
was  too  tickled  with  himself  to  notice  me  under  the  cart 
tightening  of  a  bolt.  All  I  had  to  do  was  lunge  out 
and  grab  an  ankle." 

"Hadn't  you  better  go  and  let  some  doctor  look  at 
that  arm,  judge?"  The  concerned  voice  was  Swinton 
Welch's.  "I'll  direct  operations  until " 

"You  think  I'm  going  right  on  taking  chances  on 
your  weakness,  Welch?"  Allen's  counter-demand 
snapped  with  disapproval.  "I'll  see  this  thing  through, 
no  matter  how  it  hurts.  Send  for  a  surgeon  if  you 
know  one  who  don't  insist  on  reporting  gun-shot  pa- 
tients. Come,  let's  get  this  animated  interruption 
stowed  away  before  the  police  arrive.  Questions  never 
asked  are  easiest  answered." 

"Leave  us  throw  him  in  with  the  powder,"  suggested 
a  scar- faced  bruiser  new  in  the  cast,  so  far  as  Pape 
recalled. 

And  so  they  might  have  disposed  of  him  had  not 
Duffy  advanced  a  better  proposition.  Nearby  was  a 
sort  of  cave  where  he  had  "hidden  out"  on  a  former 
emergency,  he  declared.  It  was  dark  and  dribbly  as  a 
tomb — an  ideal  safe-deposit  for  excess  baggage. 

"To  the  tomb  with  the  scorpion,  then !" 

Beneath  his  pudginess,  the  little  lawyer  seemed  hard 
as  the  rocks  he  was  so  anxious  to  blast.  With  a  ges- 
ture, he  ordered  one  of  the  crew  to  help  him  on  with 
his  coat. 


LOST  YET  WON  267 

Pape  relaxed  the  more  as  three  of  them  laid  hold 
and  carried  him  across  the  flat.  Duffy  acted  as  guide 
and  the  lawyer,  who  assuredly  was  taking  no  chances, 
went  along  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  security  of  the 
hide-away.  Several  yards  inside  the  narrow  mouth  of 
Duffy's  "sort  of"  cave  they  dropped  him  upon  the  rock 
floor;  left  him  without  further  concern  over  when,  if 
at  all,  he  should  return  to  consciousness. 

For  reasons  which  had  rilled  him  with  such  elation 
as  nearly  to  expose  his  'possum  part,  Pape  approved 
their  selection  of  the  cave.  Now  the  hope  of  victory 
out  of  defeat  came  to  him  with  an  admission  of  Allen 
from  the  entrance : 

"I  do  feel  some  weakened  by  this  wound.  Guess  I'd 
better  rest  here  a  little  while.  You  fellows  go  back  and 
start  turning  rocks.  Try  the  tilty  ones  first  and  use 
powder,  when  necessary,  just  as  if  I  owned  the  park. 
Remember,  I've  got  the  permits." 

For  five  minutes  or  more  Pape  waited  without  any 
effort  to  free  himself  except  from  the  puddle  of  drip- 
pings in  which  they  had  chanced  to  deposit  him.  Since 
all  seemed  quiet,  he  made  sibilant  venture. 

"Jane  .  .  .  Jane!" 

The  shadowy  figure  which  at  once  appeared  from 
out  the  darker  recesses  assured  him  that  luck  had  not 
entirely  deserted  him — that  the  safe-deposit  vault  se- 
lected for  him  was  the  same  in  which  he  had  honor- 
bound  the  girl  to  watch  and  wait  his  summons.  On 
entrance  of  his  pallbearers,  she  had  retreated  into  the 
depths  of  the  "tomb,"  quite  as  he  had  hoped  she  would. 


268  LONESOME  TOWN 

And  now — in  just  a  minute — he'd  show  them  how  alive 
was  the  dead  man  they  had  buried. 

She  knelt  beside  him;  was  bending  over  him. 

"Oh,  Peter — it  is  you,  then?  Are  you  hurt — 
wounded?"  Her  whisper  was  guarded  as  his  own  had 
been. 

"Yes — wounded  sore  but  only  in  my  feelings — over 
being  outwitted." 

"It's  just  as  well  I  didn't  know  you  in  the  gloom. 
I'd  have  thought  you  dead  and  died  myself.  I  was 
near-dead  of  nervousness  already.  Knowing  you  were 
armed,  I  feared  when  I  heard  the  gun  report  that  you 
had  shot  some  one  and  been  captured.  I  couldn't  have 
stayed  here  doing  nothing  much  longer,  despite  my 
promise.  Don't  know  just  what  I'd  have  done, 
but " 

"But  that's  been  decided  for  you,"  he  supplied,  in  an 
ecstasy  over  the  confession  back  of  her  words.  "You 
are  here  to  un-hog-tie  me.  The  key-knot  is  pressing  the 
small  of  my  back,  or  I  don't  know  the  feel  of  one.  See 
what  you  can  do." 

She  leaned  over  him,  her  hands  clasped  over  his  help- 
less ones.  "Only  if  you  promise  me,"  she  bargained 
with  a  vague,  tender  smile  which  he  just  could  see, 
"that  you  won't  go  back  at  them  again.  Otherwise 
you're  much  safer  tied — hog  or  human." 

"I'll  promise  anything  if  you'll  just  lower  those  lips 
one  half  an  inch.  I  think  I  can  reach  the  rest  of  the 
way." 

But  she  evidently  decided  to  free  him  without  the 
promise  and  trust  to  his  discretion.  Helping  him  turn 


LOST  YET  WON  269 

over,  she  busied  herself  with  his  bonds.  Long  and 
strong  as  were  her  fingers,  however,  they  made  no  im- 
pression upon  this  particular  key-knot,  tied  to  stay  tied 
with  some  sailor-taught  knack. 

"Feel  in  my  coat  pocket,"  he  suggested.  "If  they've 
left  me  a  couple  of  matches " 

She  did.  And  they  had.  A  stroke  across  his  boot 
top  lit  one.  The  odor  of  burning  hemp  did  not  offend 
their  nostrils ;  rather,  was  more  grateful  than  the  most 
subtle  incense  from  the  freedom  promised  in  its  fumes. 
After  the  fourth  and  last  Lucifer  had  been  burned  to  a 
char,  the  girl  was  able  to  fray  and  sunder  the  rest  of 
the  rope.  The  "key"  turned,  Pape  made  short  work  of 
the  other  knots,  shook  off  his  bonds  and  gained  his 
feet.  His  first  act  of  freedom  was  to  seize  and  kiss  the 
two  taper-tipped,  nail-broken,  burnt-finger  hands  which 
had  liberated  him. 

"Sweet  pardner !  .  .  .  Precious  pal !" 

Pape  always  remembered  his  "grave"  and  the  ensu- 
ing silence  within  its  dank  dark  as  the  most  cheerful 
place  and  the  livest  moment  of  his  life. 

Only  the  moment,  however,  did  he  allow  himself. 

"I've  got  to  reward  you  by  leaving  you  again,  but  not 
for  long.  Don't  bother  promising  this  time.  Just  wait 
until  I  bring  the  real  tenant  of  this  tomb." 

Samuel  Allen,  while  seated  upon  a  bowlder  of  trap- 
rock  that  divided  the  opening,  watching  the  start  of 
the  delayed  excavation,  felt  himself  seized  without 
warning  from  behind.  Before  he  had  time  to  utter 
more  than  a  gasp  he  was  dragged  back  into  the  cave. 
Perhaps  pain  from  his  injured  shoulder  made  him 


270  LONESOME  TOWN 

speechless.  Possibly  surprise  at  the  assault  of  the 
"scorpion,"  just  now  unconscious  and  soundly  trussed, 
had  something  to  do  with  his  inefficiency.  He  still 
seemed  incapable  of  protest  when  the  captive-turned- 
captor  searched  his  coat  pockets  and  extracted  their 
contents. 

Jane,  the  while,  had  taken  advantage  of  her  absolu- 
tion from  oath  to  follow  guardedly;  with  automatic 
ready  now  appeared  from  darkness  into  the  light  of  the 
entrance. 

"If  he  so  much  as  whines,  shoot  him — and  shoot  to 
kill  this  time!"  Pape  directed.  "He  deserves  punish- 
ment and  on  two  counts,  I  think.  Just  a  minute.  I 
want  to  make  sure." 

Stepping  nearer  the  opening,  he  began  to  run  through 
the  letters  and  documents  taken  from  the  jurist's  coat. 

"Jane  Lauderdale !  Can  it  really  be  you,  my  child?" 
At  last  Allen  drew  upon  his  font  of  sebaceousness.  "I 
hope  that  you,  too,  are  not  in  the  power  of  this  im- 
possible  " 

"She  isn't.    I'm  in  hers." 

Pape  had  overheard ;  now  wheeled  around.  A  glance 
had  satisfied  him  that  the  cryptogram  at  last  was  in 
hand.  The  brown  engravings,  the  familiar  look  of 
which  had  held  his  eyes  when  he  lay  trussed  in  the 
open,  had  confirmed  his  first  suspicion  of  them.  Folded 
with  the  crinkly  parchment  was  other  detailed  proof. 

"You're  under  arrest,  judge !"  he  snapped. 

"How  so?  You're  no  officer  and  I —  You  can't " 

"Oh  yes,  I  can.  Some  few  of  the  impossibilities 
that  are  my  pet  pastime  ought  to  be  accredited  to  the 


LOST  YET  WON  271 

deputy  sheriff  of  Snowshoe  County,  Montana.  Out 
with  those  dimpled  wrists!" 

With  one  length  of  the  rope  so  recently  misused  on 
himself,  Pape  improvised  handcuffs;  with  another 
hoppled  the  ankles  of  the  jurist. 

Unnerved  by  his  helplessness,  the  little  great  man  be- 
gan to  whimper.  "You  tried  to  murder  me  out  there. 
Now  you — you — arrest  me  for  what?" 

"Ask  the  man  behind  the  Montana  Gusher  oil  fraud 
— your  dishonorable  self.  We're  going  to  give  you 
opportunity — a  little  time  alone  with  the  crook." 

The  accusation  left  Pape's  lips  with  the  assurance 
of  a  theorem.  The  legal  tricks  played  in  Western 
courts  against  his  earlier  fight  to  protect  his  good  name 
long  ago  had  convinced  him  that  some  legal  mind  was 
master  of  the  plot.  The  jurist's  morning  skill  at  court 
jugglery  had  brought  its  flash  of  suspicion.  But  not 
until  he  had  discovered  Allen  as  the  Lauderdale  enemy 
had  there  recurred  to  him  Jane's  exclamation,  clipped 
by  her  father,  that  some  one  they  knew  might  be  the 
promoter  of  the  oil  fraud.  Later  had  come  the  first 
sight  of  tell-tale  stock  certificates  in  the  small  culprit's 
pocket,  their  worth  as  clinching  proof  assured  by  his 
recent  examination  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave. 

For  the  moment  Allen  seemed  staggered  by  the 
charge.  He  looked  as  though  he  should  find  himself 
exceeding  poor  company. 

Pape  turned  to  Jane.  "Once  more  may  I  borrow 
your  gun,  dear  ?  Some  one  of  his  plug-uglies  seems  to 
have  appropriated  mine  own.  Come." 

"Don't  leave  me,  child.     Don't  so  with  the  wild- 


272  LONESOME  TOWN 

man,"  Allen  urged  the  girl.  "He'll  only  lead  you  into 
more  trouble.  He  can't  escape  my  men  once  I  start 
them  searching  for  him  and  the  price  he'll  pay  for 
trussing  me  up  like  this " 

"It's  worth  a  goodly  price  to  show  you  how  a  truss- 
up  feels,"  Pape  interrupted.  "Of  course  I  can't  hope 
you'll  stay  caved  much  longer  than  I,  once  the  gang 
misses  you.  But  I  won't  have  trouble  re-pinching  you, 
not  while  I  hold  these  certificates  of  your  guilt.  To 
think,  Jane,  that  my  trail's-end  should  run  into  yours 
this  way !  It  looks — don't  get  scared,  now — but  it  does 
look  a  whole  lot  like  Fate." 

She  regarded  him,  serious-eyed,  yet  with  faintly 
smiling  lips.  "It  looked  a  whole  lot  like  that  to  me  the 

day  you  told  dad  and  me  about  your  search  for " 

The  suggestion  of  a  smile  vanished  as  she  turned  di- 
rectly toward  the  wretched-looking  little  big  man. 
"Wasn't  'Montana  Gusher'  the  name  of  that  oil  stock 
you  stopped  Aunt  Helene's  buying,  Judge  Allen  ?  Ah, 
I  thought  so!" 

With  a  glance  of  contempt  for  the  obviously  guilty 
"family  friend,"  she  followed  Pape  out  of  the  cave. 
From  the  shadow  of  the  wall  they  looked  out  over  the 
flat. 

"We  can't  continue  Western  style,"  he  observed  with 
manifest  regret.  "See  the  mounties?  They're  here 
under  instructions  to  report  to  his  Honor  the  Judge 
and  do  his  bidding.  There's  a  limit,  as  I  learned 
awhile  back,  to  what  one  can  tackle  in  Gotham  single- 
handed — that  is  to  say,  with  hope  of  success.  We'll 
need  an  injunction  to  stop  that  stunt.  Let's  go  get  it!" 


LOST  YET  WON  273 

Almost  were  they  across  the  open  space  which  they 
must  cover  to  reach  their  horses  when  a  shouted  com- 
mand to  halt  told  that  Allen's  gang  had  sighted  them. 
Instead  of  obeying,  Pape  snatched  Jane's  hand  and 
urged  her  into  a  run. 

They  gained  a  moment  in  the  one  lost  to  the  enemy 
while  Swinton  Welch  explained  to  the  police  lieutenant 
the  necessity  of  capturing  them.  They  reached  their 
mounts,  climbed  their  saddles  and  were  on  their  way 
before  the  pursuit  started  from  the  far  side  of  the  flat. 
A  second  time  that  afternoon  the  consecrated  precinct 
of  Gotham's  pleasure  place  staged  a  race — this  one 
quite  official,  with  former  pursuers  turned  quarry. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

HUNTERS   HUNTED 

REALLY  surprising  was  the  detailed  topographi- 
cal knowledge  which  the  western  trail-blazer  had 
acquired  during  recent  adventures.  He  picked  their 
way  through  the  tumbled  terrain  of  the  park  heights  as 
if  from  a  map.  That  he  knew  the  up-and-down  maze 
better  than  the  officers  now  after  them  was  demon- 
strated when  they  gained  the  path  that  represents  the 
ultimate  democracy  of  horsemanship  by  a  scramble 
down  a  rocky  slope  with  none  of  the  pack  in  sight. 

His  immediate  objective  he  confided  to  Jane  in  case 
accident  should  separate  them.  A  moment  of  straight 
riding  would  take  them  through  the  Womens  Gate  into 
West  Seventy-second  Street.  There  he  would  slip  into 
the  Hotel  Majestic  and  a  telephone  booth  to  enlist  legal 
reinforcements. 

Both  overlooked,  however,  an  important  factor  in 
Central  Park's  equipment — the  net-work  of  wires 
spread  over  its  length  and  breadth  for  facility  of  the 
authorities  in  imminent  cases  more  or  less  like  that  of 
the  moment.  Only  when  a  man  and  woman  riding 
ahead  of  them  were  stopped  and  questioned  by  the  po- 
lice guard  at  the  gate  did  Pape  suspect  that  an  alarm 
had  been  telephoned  ahead  of  them.  His  plan  was 
abruptly  altered.  Turning  the  horses,  as  if  to  continue 

274 


HUNTERS  HUNTED  275 

an  objectless  canter,  they  started  back  over  the  path 
gained  with  such  difficulty,  trotting  until  beyond  of- 
ficial view,  thereafter  breaking  into  the  gallop  of  a  pair 
of  "renters"  anxious  to  get  the  most  possible  out  of 
their  five-dollar  hour  in  the  saddle. 

Canon  after  canon  gaped  in  the  apartment-house 
mountain  range  on  their  left,  marking  streets  passed. 
Their  hope  grew  that,  unmolested,  they  could  pass  out 
Pioneers  Gate  at  the  northwest  corner  of  the  park. 

But  that  hope,  too,  was  outsped.  Hoof-hammering 
behind  caused  both  to  glance  over-shoulder  at  a  bend. 
Three  of  the  city's  mounted  came  pounding  after  them. 

Pape  looked  about  to  make  sure  of  their  location. 
The  bridle  path  spilled  into  a  pool  of  shadows  at  the 
bottom  of  a  gorge ;  granite  walls  rolled  back  from  trail- 
side.  Recognition  of  the  region  which  he  had  been 
exploring  with  Polkadot  on  his  first  clash  with  law  and 
order  aided  in  what  was  of  necessity  a  lightning- 
changed  decision. 

"Can't  make  Pioneers  Gate."  He  signaled  Jane  to 
draw  rein.  "We'll  take  to — bush — turn  the  cayuses 
loose — hide-out  until  they've  given  us — up." 

He  swung  from  saddle  with  the  last  panted  period, 
expecting  the  girl  to  follow  his  example.  When,  on 
her  delay,  he  hurried  to  her  assistance,  he  saw  that  she 
was  leaning  upon  the  nose  of  her  saddle,  her  lips  pale 
as  her  cheeks.  Bodily  he  lifted  her  to  the  ground  and 
found  her  a  temporary  rest  against  a  path-side  stump. 
After  turning  the  horses  about,  he  looped  their  reins 
and,  with  a  back-to-stable  slap  upon  Polkadot's 
splotched  rump,  started  them  down-park. 


276  LONESOME  TOWN 

White-circle  death  sentences  painted  upon  withering 
elms,  poplars  and  birches  pointed  the  course  over  which 
he  half -carried  the  "sweet  pardner"  exhausted  by  ex- 
citement too  long  sustained.  When  they  came  upon  a 
brush- fringed  depression,  which  at  home  he  would  have 
called  an  elk  bed,  he  bade  her  take  to  cover;  himself 
crawled  back  to  spy  out  the  movements  of  the  pursuit. 

At  the  top  of  the  last  rise  in  the  bridlepath,  the 
police  riders  met  the  empty  saddlers.  They  sounded 
greatly  disturbed.  From  such  scraps  of  loud-pitched 
conversation  as  carried,  Pape  pieced  together  their  as- 
sumption that  the  fugitives  had  abandoned  their 
mounts  for  a  short-cut  to  the  west  wall.  He  saw  two 
of  the  trio  dismount  and  begin  combing  the  brush  in 
that  direction,  while  the  third  remained  on  guard  over 
the  five  horses. 

All  of  this  was  fortuitous  in  that  it  promised  time 
for  them  to  reach  a  definite  objective  which  he  had  in 
mind — a  place  where  the  spent  girl  might  rest  and 
both  hide  until  darkness  draped  the  park  for  their 
escape.  His  sense  of  semi-security  weakened,  how- 
ever, on  noticing  that  a  police  dog  was  of  the  party; 
that  the  "mounty"  on  hostler  duty  was  sending  the 
animal  up  the  brushy  hill  on  the  east — their  side  of  the 
path.  Slithering  back  into  the  depression,  he  awaited 
for  several  long-drawn  minutes  the  alarm-bay  of  the 
canine  officer,  dreading  the  worst,  yet  not  wishing  to 
share  that  dread  unnecessarily. 

Jane  first  felt  the  spell  of  the  two  brown  eyes  fo- 
cused upon  them  through  a  patterned  veil  of  brush. 
Nervously  she  caught  his  arm;  pointed.  Soon  a  long, 


HUNTERS  HUNTED  272 

black-tipped  nose  rent  the  veil,  sniffing  through  a  foun- 
tain spray  of  vine  abloom  with  pale  blue,  bell-shaped 
flowers. 

The  police  dog.  had  located  them.  But  why  the  de- 
lay of  his  bayed  alarm?  A  moment  more  and  he  an- 
swered for  himself.  With  suppressed  whines  and  in- 
sinuating wriggles  there  broke  from  the  clutch  of  the 
vine  none  other  than  Kicko  of  the  Sheepfold,  his  sense 
of  duty  evidently  overcome  by  delight  at  the  reunion. 

Pape's  joy  transcended  the  Belgian's.  Never  had  he 
bestowed  a  more  fervid  embrace  than  that  which  en- 
circled the  ruffed  neck.  Jane,  too,  patted  their  four- 
footed  friend  and  bedecked  his  collar  with  a  spray  of 
the  flowering  vine  which  had  been  torn  down  by  his 
impetuous  entrance. 

"Pin  one  of  those  blues  roses  on  me,"  Pape  asked; 
when  she  had  done  so,  added :  "Out  home  we  call  that 
'matrimony  vine.'  I  wonder  whether  its  use  here  as  a 
decoration  is  any  sort  of  sign  that " 

"I  wonder,"  Jane  interrupted  more  crisply  than  he 
would  have  thought  possible  in  her  wilted  state, 
"whether  Kicko  will  lie  low  like  a  good  dog  instead  of 
a  police  officer  while  you  explain  about  those  papers 
you  took  from  the  judge?" 

Because  he  believed  absolutely  in  signs — hadn't  a 
sign  pointed  his  way  to  her  ? — Pape  was  willing  to  wait 
for  the  answer  to  his  question.  Indeed,  he  had  not 
earned  her  answer  until  after  the  Granddad  Lauderdale 
riddle  had  been  solved.  With  a  shrug  and  a  sigh  he 
took  from  his  pocket  the  sheaf  of  brown  engravings. 

"These,  as  you  may  have  surmised,  are  certificates 


278  LONESOME  TOWN 

for  stock  in  the  Montana  Gusher  Oil  Company.  See." 
He  opened  and  handed  her  one.  "They  are  signed  with 
names  of  dummy  officers,  as  were  the  others.  But  they 
are  blank  as  to  owner  and  number  of  shares — right 
strong  evidence  that  the  honorable  Samuel  is  the  man 
behind  the  fraud — that  his  fat  little  neck  is  the  one  I 
came  East  to  wring." 

Jane  nodded.  "I  was  waiting  to  see  Aunt  Helene 
and  make  sure  before  I  told  you  what  I  suspected.  You 
see,  it  was  a  good  while  ago  when  a  salesman  interested 
her  in  the  stock.  She  was  about  to  invest  when  Judge 
Allen  interfered.  Rather,  he  told  her  that  he  knew  the 
stock  wasn't  worth  the  paper  on  which  it  was  engraved. 
Except  that  my  time  has  been — well,  a  bit  full  since 
yesterday  afternoon,  I'd  have  got  the  facts  at  once  and 
given  them  to  you  for  what  they  were  worth.  In  pre- 
dicaments like  ours,  the  rule  of  noblesse  oblige  should 
hold." 

"Do  we  need  rules  to  hold?" 

Illustratively  Pape  seized  with  one  hand  the  slim, 
ringless  fingers  still  caressing  the  spray  of  matrimony 
vine — his  other  had  a  firm  grip  on  Kicko's  collar.  His 
touch,  voice  and  eyes  were  full  of  appreciation  for  her 
good  intentions.  It  was  hard  to  have  such  a  good — or 
bad — memory  about  the  absolute  justness  of  one's  des- 
serts; hard  to  crush  those  blue  bells  within  her  pink 
palms  and  not  entirely  forget —  She  was  so  appealing 
in  her  languor  and  dependency  that  there  seemed  ample 
excuse  for  his  asking  the  right  to  protect  and  sustain 
her.  Looking  at  the  matter  in  this  tempting  light  of 
the  underbrush,  he  might  be  expected  to  owe  her  an 


HUNTERS  HUNTED  279 

explanation  of  that  kiss  in  the  cab — to  tell  her  that  to 
him  it  was  their  betrothal. 

And  yet 

Although  Why-Not  Pape  rarely  questioned  oppor- 
tunity, there  were  some  times  and  some  women  and 
some  hopes —  Rather  roughly  he  dropped  her  hands; 
next  offered  her  a  memorandum  which  he  had  found 
folded  inside  the  sheaf  of  stock-certificates — a  list  of 
names,  with  figures  set  down  opposite. 

"The  writing  is  his  beyond  doubt — Judge  Allen's,'* 
she  declared  after  a  moment's  scrutiny. 

"Clinches  the  proof  of  his  guilt  in  the  oil  deal.  It  is 
a  'sucker  list' — the  names  of  stock  biters  and  the  price 
per  bite.  It  is — "  In  his  pause  Pape  gave  the  girl  a 
look  that  was  at  once  exultant  for  himself  and  regret- 
ful for  her.  "It  is  your  family  friend's  ticket  to  the 
Atlanta  pen." 

To  distract  the  very  natural  distress  which  he  saw 
in  her  face,  he  forced  cheer  to  lighten  the  murmur  of 
their  exchange. 

"But  let's  get  to  the  famous  cryptogram,  lost  and  at 
last  regained.  Now  we  can  read  it  as  a  whole." 

Allowing  the  jealous  Belgian  to  wedge  himself  be- 
tween them,  Pape  spread  out  the  wrinkled  sheet  upon 
the  hairy  back ;  in  guarded  tones  read : 

List  to  the  Nubian  roar 
And  whisper  of  poplars  four. 
They  tell  of  bed-rock 
Where  rests  a  crock 
Brimful  of  Fortune's  store. 


280  LONESOME  TOWN 

'Tis  on  a  height 
The  vault  you'll  sight 
Of  buried  might. 
'Twill  lead  you  right, 
Bring  delight, 
Win  the  fight. 

Eighteen  and  twelve  will  show 

The  spot.     Begin  below. 

Above  the  crock 

A  block  will  rock, 

As  rocks  wrong's  overthrow. 

List,  then,  the  Nubian  roar. 
List  whisper  of  poplars  four. 
Climb,  then,  the  height. 
Read  signs  aright. 
Count  eighteen — twelve. 
Take  heart  and  delve. 
Obey.    You'll  want  no  more. 


For  moments  the  three  of  them — counting  Kicko — 
pondered  in  silence.  Two,  at  least,  were  considering 
the  crypt's  applicability  to  the  height  of  Judge  Allen's 
selection.  It  seemed  a  possible  place,  except  for  slight 
discrepancies,  such  as  the  absence  of  any  particular 
"roar,"  an  uncertain  number  of  poplars  among  the 
pines  and  the  lack  of  a  "vault,"  except  for  the  rock- 
tomb  of  Pape's  untimely — proved  so — burial.  In  both 
the  hope  grew  that,  should  they  make  good  their  escape 
with  the  incriminating  evidence  against  the  little  law- 
yer-leader, the  gang's  work  on  the  flat  would  be  sus- 
pended until  after  recovery  of  the  documents.  Even 
should  Allen  force  the  search,  on  being  freed,  they 
were  well  ammunitioned  for  rebuttal  in  court. 


HUNTERS  HUNTED  281 

One  by  one — in  silence  this  time — Pape  again 
scanned  the  enigmatic  lines. 

"I'm  here  to  say,"  he  made  comment,  "that  grand- 
dad went  in  for  inexpensive  verse.  I'd  say  free,  except 
that  it  rhymes." 

"Free?  We've  paid  a  greater  price  than  you  imag- 
ine, Peter  Pape.  And  if  all  we  are  to  gain  is  the  un- 
masking of  Sam  Allen " 

"We're  going  to  gain  everything — more  than  you 
can  imagine  from  the  little  you  love  me  yet,"  he  reas- 
sured her,  not  to  mention  himself.  Then,  again,  he 
took  himself  in  hand.  "I,  for  one,  am  getting  in  some- 
thing of  a  hurry,"  he  tacitly  apologized.  "If  you'll 
hold  to  our  side-kick  here,  I'll  take  another  scout." 

As  before,  he  wriggled  over  the  rim  of  their  hide- 
out; was  gone  ten  minutes  or  so;  on  his  stealthy  re- 
turn made  report : 

"They've  driven  off  our  nags,  but  left  a  horse-cop 
on  patrol.  A  pair  of  patrolmen  are  snooping  along  the 
west  wall  and  the  northwest  gate  is  doubly  guarded. 
The  Allen  pull  sure  has  pulled  fast  and  many,  this  early 
evening.  There  is  nothing  to  it  but  to  lie  low  here  until 
night.  Mighty  sorry  for  you,  precious  pal.  I  know 
you're  about  all  in.  But  they  ain't  going  to  pinch  Miss 
Jane  Lauderdale,  of  the  Lauderdales,  twice  in  the  same 
twenty-four  hours — not  in  my  extant  company." 

"I'm  afraid  they're  going  to  have  a  chance."  The 
girl  caught  at  his  arm.  "The  dog — didn't  he  join 
you?" 

"Kick?    No.    How  did  he  get  away?" 

"Oh,  I'm  so  sorry !    He  wrenched  himself  from  me. 


282  LONESOME  TOWN 

I  thought — I  hoped  he  only  wanted  to  follow  you. 
Didn't  dare  call  out  for  fear " 

"Another  false  friend,  eh?  Looks  like  this  is  our 
day  for  uncovering  'em.  The  pup  had  a  flea-bite  of 
conscience,  I  reckon." 

Jane  disagreed.  "Not  intentionally — please,  not 
Kicko!  Don't  make  me  doubt  everybody.  It's  only 
that  he  likes  a  'party.'  The  more  the  merrier  is  his 
motto,  if  he  has  one." 

"And  he's  gone  for  the  more?" — Pape,  rather 
grimly.  "Well,  they  mustn't  find  us  here,  that  police 
'party'  of  his,  whatever  the  motive  back  of  his  invita- 
tion. The  sooner  we  move  on  the  safer.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I'm  headed  for  another  place — a  perfect  hide- 
out. If  you  feel  able  let's  be  stepping  lively.  If  you 
don't,  I'll  enjoy  stepping  for  you — that  is  to  say,  tot- 
ing you." 

They  started  up  the  hillside,  keeping  in  the  brush 
wherever  such  grew,  skulking  low-backed  across  the 
open  spaces.  Although  the  girl  scrambled  after  him, 
evidently  determined  not  to  be  a  drag  upon  the  hand  to 
which  she  desperately  clung  with  her  two,  she  lost  her 
footing  on  the  rock  when  near  the  top  and  fell  face 
forward.  Her  urgent  little  moan  that  he  go  on  with- 
out her  was  denied  strongly  by  the  pair  of  arms  that 
gathered  her  up,  and  clasped  her  like  a  woman,  not  a 
baby,  against  a  heart  hard-hammering  from  more  than 
the  violent  exercise.  Thus  did  he  step  for  her — "tote" 
her  to  sortie's  end. 

She  felt  herself  deposited  upon  a  wooden  step. 
Looking  up,  she  recognized  the  stone  block-house  liter- 


HUNTERS  HUNTED  283 

ally  "perched"  upon  the  top  of  the  precipitous  granite 
hump  up  which  they  had  come. 

In  the  inspirational  light  of  a  refuge  of  to-day  Pape 
had  remembered  that  olden  fortress  which  he  had  been 
surveying  when  detected  by  the  "quail"  cop,  Pudge 
O'Shay. 

Straightening  to  the  sheet-iron  door,  he  tried  the 
knob,  then  the  comparative  strength  of  his  shoulder. 
But  the  protection  so  generously  accorded  park  rovers 
of  earlier  wars  seemed  denied  them.  Investigating 
through  one  of  the  oblong  loopholes,  he  saw  that  the 
door  was  fastened  with  a  spring  lock  which  could  be 
opened  without  a  key  from  inside.  Straightway  he 
gave  his  consideration  to  the  fifteen-foot  stone  wall. 

Never  had  the  Westerner  aspired  to  plaudits  as  a 
human  fly,  yet  no  Hellroaring  cliff  had  been  sheer 
enough  to  forbid  his  ascent.  Pulling  off  his  boots,  he 
essayed  the  latest  in  difficulties  stocking-footed;  after 
several  slip-backs,  went  over  the  top.  The  door  thrown 
wide,  he  gathered  Jane  up  and  stumbled  with  her  over 
a  slab-like  doorsill  that  wobbled  under  their  weight. 

"Odd,"  murmured  the  girl  looking  about,  "that  I 
should  be  hiding  from  the  law  in  this  favorite  relic  of 
Grandfather  Lauderdale!  One  of  his  foibles  as  a 
Grand  Army  veteran  was  to  come  here  at  sunrise  on 
victory  anniversaries  and  run  up  a  flag  on  that  staff. 
Some  sentimental  park  commissioner  gave  him  a  key 
and  he  never  missed  an  occasion." 

"Might  have  left  some  furniture  scattered  about — a 
few  chaises  tongues  and  easy  chairs,"  Pape  complained. 
"Still,  you  ought  to  rest  easy  on  the  fact  that  those  get- 


284  LONESOME  TOWN 

'em  specialists  will  never  think  to  look  for  us  in  here." 

After  making  sure  that  the  door  had  latched  itself, 
hte  doffed  his  coat  and  spread  it  for  her  to  sit  on,  with 
her  back  to  a  cleaner-than-most  section  of  the  wall. 
Although  only  the  cuff  of  one  out-flung  sleeve  formed 
his  seat,  he  felt  more  comfortable,  by  contrast  with  re- 
cent rigors,  than  in  all  the  long  stretch  of  his  past—or 
so  he  claimed  to  Jane. 

The  hour  was  the  veribest  of  the  whole  twenty- four 
group,  he  reminded  her.  Wouldn't  she  enjoy  it? 
Evening  was  lowering  shadows  into  the  park.  Didn't 
she  feel  sifting  into  the  roofless  block-house  the 
atmosphere  of  rest-time  and  peace?  Outside  the  trees 
were  full  of  birds,  as  busy  about  going  to  bed  as  the 
families  of  any  flat-house  in  the  city.  Couldn't  she 
imagine  with  him  that  the  dulled  clatter  rising  from  the 
streets  was  the  rush  of  some  great  waterfall  of  the 
wild  or  of  winds  through  a  forest  or  of  hoofed  herds 
pounding  over  a  distant  plain? 

Soothing  was  Pape's  illusion  that  he  was  back  in 
his  limitless  West,  but  rudely  was  it  broken.  Slowly, 
soundlessly  he  got  to  his  feet;  approached  the  sheet- 
iron  door;  with  every  sense  alert,  listened.  A  sharp 
knock  had  sounded  from  without.  No  illusion  was 
this.  Jane,  too,  had  heard.  She  had  straightened 
against  the  stone  wall,  in  her  wide  eyes  and  tightened 
lips  the  reflex  of  his  thought. 

Peace,  safety,  rest-time?    Evidently,  not  for  them! 

Had  some  member  of  The  Finest  outwitted  them? 
Was  the  block-house  to  prove,  not  a  refuge,  but  a 
trap? 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

HOUSE  OF  BLOCKS 

|X}R  a  moment  silence  tortured.    Then  sounded  an 
J7    imperative  tapping  against  the  locked  door. 

Pape,  standing  within  arm-reach  of  the  handle,  felt 
something  hard  and  cold  slipped  into  his  grasp;  re- 
alized that  Jane  had  re-armed  him;  appreciated  her 
mute  suggestion  that  it  would  be  better,  were  they 
known  to  be  blocked  within,  to  take  his  chance  of  over- 
coming a  single  enemy  than  to  wait  until  reenforce- 
ments  arrived. 

A  second  he  considered  the  automatic,  before  placing 
it  in  his  pocket  ready  for  emergency  in  case  his  arms 
and  fists  could  not  decide  the  issue.  To  throw  open 
the  door  and  drag  inside  the  disturber  would  be  the 
best  beginning  to  fight's  finish.  He  waved  the  girl 
toward  the  far  wall ;  soundlessly  turned  the  latch ;  flung 
back  with  a  jerk  to  admit 

Their  pursuer  was  official,  yes,  although  not  so  much 
so  as  they  had  feared.  With  a  bound  he  entered  just 
below  Pape's  ready  fists — and  on  four  feet  instead  of 
two. 

"Kicko — you  scoundrel !" — Pape,  sternly. 

"Precious  pup!" — Jane,  caressingly,  from  the  floor 
seat  into  which  she  had  collapsed  from  very  weakness 
of  her  relief. 

285 


286  LONESOME  TOWN 

Pape  mounted  the  wobbly  doorstep  and  peered  out- 
side. No  accompanying  officers  loomed  through  the 
fast-falling  shadows.  Either  the  dog  had  outsped  them 
or  had  deserted  them  temporarily  for  some  reason 
canine  and  less  comprehensible.  On  relatching  the 
door  and  facing  about,  he  saw  that  reason. 

The  Belgian,  his  tail  waving  like  a  feather  fan, 
trotted  toward  the  girl,  swinging  from  his  mouth  a 
shiny  object  which  explained  why  he  had  bumped 
against  and  scratched  at  the  door,  instead  of  barking 
for  admittance.  In  Jane's  lap  he  deposited  the  tin  lunch 
pail,  to  carry  which  to  his  master  at  noon-time  was  his 
dearest  duty  and  privilege. 

More  than  curiosity  as  to  its  contents — an  animal 
eagerness  almost  as  unrestrained  as  the  dog's,  returned 
Pape  to  his  former  seat  upon  the  cuff  of  his  coat  and 
hurried  his  removal  of  the  lid.  Three  hovered  grate- 
fully over  the  removed  contents  of  that  pail.  Cer- 
tainly two  were  ready  to  believe  that  the  errand  of  the 
third  had  been  as  innocent  as  it  now  looked.  They 
gave  the  quondam  deserter  benefit  of  every  doubt,  if 
only  the  dog's  share  of  the  benefits  he  had  brought. 

"You've  vindicated  yourself,  Towser,"  remarked 
Pape.  "The  lady  in  this  case  was  right.  She  looks  to 
me  like  one  of  the  perfect  kind  that  always  is — right, 
you  know.  She  said,  old  side-Kick,  that  you'd  gone  to 
bring  a  party.  And  you  sure  have  brought  one — some 
party,  this !  From  the  depths  of  the  heart  of  my  inner 
man,  I  crave  your  pardon." 

The  Belgian's  grant  of  grace  was  as  prompt  as  moist. 
His  anxiety  centered  upon  a  less  subtle  exchange. 


HOUSE  OF  BLOCKS  287 

"Oh,  I  am  so  hungry — that's  mostly  what  made  me 
collapse!"  Jane  sighed.  "You  see,  I've  formed  the  bad 
habit  of  eating  once  in  a  while.  I'd  quarrel  over  a  crust 
of  stale  rye  bread.  But  boiled-tongue-and-mustard 
sandwiches,  potato  salad,  apple  pie —  Peter,  let's 
begin!" 

It  did  not  take  the  three  of  them  long  to  demonstrate 
that  there  was  one  luncheon  of  which  Shepherd  Tom 
never  should  get  a  crumb.  Between  bites  Pape  remem- 
bered aloud  the  herdsman's  rather  dubious  admission 
of  Kicko's  propensity  at  times  to  present  the  precious 
pail  to  the  "wrong"  person.  In  this  case,  however,  even 
he  must  have  admitted  that  the  wrong  was  the  right. 
As  the  edge  of  their  hunger  was  dulled  they  deducted 
the  possibilities.  Either  the  police  dog  had  missed  his 
master  at  the  noon  hour  or  allowed  himself  to  be  dis- 
tracted by  some  canine  caprice.  Happening  into  the 
excitement  of  the  posse,  he  had  relinquished  the  pail  to 
join  the  chase.  Afterward,  having  found  preferred 
friends  rather  than  enemies  to  be  the  quarry,  he  had 
remembered  duty  neglected  and  broken  away  to  retrieve 
his  pail. 

The  three- from-one  meal  ended,  the  girl  took  off  her 
hat  and  settled  back  against  the  stone  wall  with  a  smile 
the  more  aesthetic  for  its  physical  content.  The  dog, 
although  fuller  of  good-fellowship  than  of  food,  emu- 
lated her  smile  in  spirit  if  not  in  expression,  stretched 
out  across  their  feet,  gaped  his  mouth  and  flopped  his 
tail.  The  man  was  able  to  delight  the  more  in  that 
rare  smile  on  Jane's  reposeful  features  because  released 
from  crasser  cravings.  He  leaned  low  toward  her  in 


288  LONESOME  TOWN 

the  dusk,  as  though  to  be  under  its  downshed  radiance. 

Her  beauty  seemed  to  intensify — to  be  taking  the 
light  and  making  the  darkness.  Small  wonder,  he 
thought,  that  blind  eyes  ached  again  to  behold  that  face, 
pure  as  marble  alive,  tender  of  line,  yet  strong — eyes 
the  purple  of  a  royal  mystery,  lips  the  color  of  life,  hair 
a  black,  lustrous  veil  draped  to  reveal,  rather  than  con- 
ceal. 

"You  look,"  said  he,  "like  the  spirit  of  evening — the 
spirit  that  lures  a  fellow  away  from  the  rest  of  the 
world  and  contents  him  with  one  warm  hearth-fire,  one 
steady  light,  one  complete  companionship.  Every  man 
who  battles  through  his  day  hopes  for  that  spirit  at 
his  eventide.  I  have  battled  a  bit  to-day,  Jane,  and  I 
— I  can't  help  hoping " 

"You  believe  in  spirits,  then?"  she  asked  as  if  to 
cover,  even  in  that  sympathetic  light,  the  suggestion  of 
his  broken  words. 

He  nodded.  "Assorted  kinds — liquid,  ghosts — and 
you." 

"Then  maybe  you  won't  laugh  at  my  fancy — "  her 
voice  lowered  superstitiously  —  "that  Grandfather 
Lauderdale's  spirit  is  hovering  around  inside  this  block- 
house— now." 

He  did  laugh,  but  softly.  "Aren't  you  going  to  in- 
troduce us?" 

"Oh,  he  wouldn't  like  any  such  formality!  I  can 
just  see  him  sizing  you  up  for  himself  with  one  glance 
of  those  blue,  cliff-browed  eyes  of  his.  He  used  to 
tell  me  my  inmost  little-girl  secrets  before  I  could  con- 
fide them  to  him,  he  was  so  second-sighted.  The  first 


HOUSE  OF  BLOCKS  289 

time  he  brought  me  here  was  at  one  of  his  flag-raising 
dawns.  I  was  very  small,  but  I'll  never  forget  him,  my 
tall,  strong  old  fire-eater  whom  everybody  but  me 
thought  queer,  with  his  magnificent  head  of  thick, 
white,  curling  hair.  A  sort  of  glory  lit  in  his  face 
from  the  rising  sun  and  the  tears  staggered  through 
the  furrows  of  his  cheeks  when  the  flag  caught  the 
breeze — spread  out  its  full  assurance  of  the  freedom 
he  had  fought  to  win." 

"Never  mind  that  introduction.  Already  you  have 
presented  him  to  me.  Howdy,  old-timer !  Right  glad 
to  meet  you." 

Pape,  his  grin  gone,  reached  forward  and  grasped 
and  shook  the  empty  air. 

"As  I  grew  older,"  Jane  continued,  "I  came  with  him 
often.  One  time  was  when  they  planted  a  bronze  tablet 
in  the  outer  wall  as  a  tribute  to  the  outpost  service 
which  this  house  rendered  in  the  War  of  1812." 

"They  did,  eh?  A  tablet— for  the  War  of  " 

More  than  before  Pape  looked  interested.  "Maybe  it 
ain't  granddad's  spirit,  after  all — maybe  only  the  ghost 
of  association." 

"No,  I'm  sure  it  is  he.  Wait.  Perhaps  he  has  a 
message  for  us."  Still  with  that  vague  smile  on  her 
lips,  Jane  closed  her  eyes  and  spoke  dreamily :  "He  has 
a  message.  It  is  for  me.  He  wants  me  to  give  you 
what  I've  wanted  to  give  you  all  along,  my  entire  con- 
fidence— to  tell  you  that  I've  trusted  you  from  first 
glance,  no  matter  how  I've  acted — to  tell  you  just  what 
is  the  improbable-sounding  treasure  that  we've  been 
hunting  so  desperately,  lest  our  enemies  find  and  de- 


290  LONESOME  TOWN 

stroy  it — to  tell  you  how  and  why  the  possession  of  it 
will  clear  my  father's  name  and  restore  us  to  that  'for- 
tune forevermore'  promised  in  his  cryptogram.  You'll 
be  incredulous  at  first,  Peter  Pape,  but  all  will  work 
out  once  we  have  possession  of —  Listen,  closely,  now. 
That  crock  of  the  first  verse  holds " 

Pape,  despite  her  allegedly  mystic  instructions,  inter- 
rupted: "Don't  want  you  to  tell  me!  Won't  hear  it!" 

"Why-Not  Pape,"  her  eyes  flashed  open,  "you're  a — 
At  least,  you  might  be  said  to  be  mulish,  the  way  you 
stick  to  a  point." 

"Did  granddad's  spirit  dictate  that?"  he  enquired 
mildly. 

"No.  That's  thrown  in  on  my  own  account.  It  is 
ridiculous  for  you  to  be  risking  life  and  limb,  reputa- 
tion, money  and  comfort,  for  something  whose  very 
nature  you  don't  know." 

"But  I  do  know  for  what  I'm  risking  all  those  little 
things." 

"For  what,  then?" 

"For  you." 

The  pause  that  ensued  may  be  utilized  for  the  admis- 
sion that  Pape  was  not  as  superior  to  curiosity  as  his 
stand  would  suggest.  Indeed,  he  had  speculated,  so  far 
as  his  intelligence  and  knowledge  would  take  him,  over 
the  exact  nature  of  the  hidden  hoard.  He  had  heard 
of  gold  and  jewels  buried  by  eccentrics  of  little  faith 
in  modern  banks  and  presumed  that  something  such  was 
deposited  in  the  missing  crock.  Once  Jane  had  said 
that  the  buried  treasure  was  "bigger  than  Central  Park 
itself."  Just  now  she  had  declared  the  desperation  of 


HOUSE  OF  BLOCKS  291 

their  hunt  due  to  fear  lest  their  enemies  "destroy"  it. 
Destroy  what  was  bigger  than  Central  Park  itself? 
She  had  added  a  new  and  confusing  touch  to  the 
mystery. 

"I  set  out  to  give  you  the  common  or  garden  variety 
of  service,"  he  explained  his  stand.  "That's  a  kind  that 
don't  need  to  understand,  that  digs  ditches  and  wages 
wars  and  wins  women.  Don't  load  me  down  with 
knowledge  now.  Let  me  go  all  the  way  to  trail's-end 
— the  crock — just  trusting  that  it  will  lead  me  to  you." 

He  bent  that  she  should  not  miss  his  promising 
smile — twilight  was  mixing  with  starlight  by  now. 

"Isn't  faith  best  proved  without  words,  dear?"  he 
asked  her.  "If  you  have  any  in  me,  this  would  seem  a 
right  good  time  to  prove  it.  Cease  worrying.  Trust 
me.  Rest.  Isn't  everything  snug  and  au  fait?  You 
have  most  everything  you  need — even  a  chaperone." 

"Meaning  Kicko  or  that  hoot-owl?" 

"Meaning  granddad's  spirit." 

"Oh  ...  all  right  .  .  .  I'll  try." 

After  a  time 

"Jane,  tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil — don't  you 
prefer  me  to  that  wall?" 

"Why— why " 

"Please  prefer  me." 

Perhaps  his  arm  did  more  than  his  words  to  per- 
suade her.  At  any  rate,  with  her  head  resting  against 
his  shoulder,  she  made  admission. 

"I  do — prefer  you  to  a  stone  wall,  you  know." 

"And  aren't  you  going  to  prefer  me  to  everybody 
and  everything?  I  don't  wish  to  seem  to  be  making 


292  LONESOME  TOWN 

love  to  you,  Miss  Lauderdale — not  just  yet.  You  must- 
admit  that  I  have  been  very  slow  and  steady." 

"Slow  and  steady — you?" 

"But  it  would  help  to  get  that  settled  now.  Aren't 
you  going  to  prefer  me,  Jane?" 

"I  am.  That  is,  I  do  now — did  in  fact  from  that 
first  night  when  I  picked  you  out  of  a  grand-tier  of 
faces  as  the  one  man  who " 

"Wait  a  minute!    You  say  you  selected  me?" 

He  took  her  by  both  shoulders ;  held  her  away  from 
him ;  peered,  startled,  into  her  eyes. 

"Of  course.  But  it  was  more  instinct  than  reason 
that  made  me " 

"Well,  if  you  selected  me — "  and  he  replaced  that 
head  of  hers,  veiled  in  soft,  fragrant  black,  against  the 
spot  preferred  to  the  wall — "I'm  helpless." 

"But  not  hopeless,  I  hope?" 

"Hopeless,  when  I've  kissed  you  once  and  have  hopes 
that — ?  Say,  I  want  to  be  slow  and  steady,  to  give  you 
time  to  realize  without  being  told  that  you're  going  to 
marry  me.  But  if  you  self-selected  me,  Jane  Lauder- 
dale, maybe  you'll  notify  me  as  to  the  soonest  possible 
moment  when  I'm  due  to  kiss  you  again." 

She  drew  far  enough  away  to  peer  into  his  eyes. 
Faint-smiling,  yet  wholly  serious,  she  considered. 
Then 

"Peter  Pape,  why  not  now?"  she  asked  him. 

Pape  had  other  reasons  than  the  girl's  weariness  for 
persuading  her  to  try  for  a  snatch  of  the  sleep  she 
might  need  against  possible  strain  on  her  nerve  and 


HOUSE  OF  BLOCKS  293 

endurance  ahead.  He  wished  to  weigh — well,  several 
interesting  observations. 

For  long  after  she  had  accepted  his  knee  as  a  pillow, 
the  rock  floor  as  a  bed,  a  live-fur  rug  for  her  feet  and 
his  coat  for  her  coverlet,  he  pulled  on  his  pipe ;  returned 
the  dark  scowl  of  the  down-drooping  night;  thought. 
The  while,  out-loud  observations  which  had  seemed  to 
soothe  Polkadot  on  that  previous  trip  to  the  block-house 
recurred  to  him.  More  or  less  monotonously  he  crooned 
them  over  her  like  a  lullaby. 

"Don't  you  hear  the  dog- wood  yapping,  dear?  .  .  . 
Can't  you  just  imagine  those  old-fashioned  pop-guns 
popping?  .  .  .  Nothing  to  break  the  silences  save  the 
shriek  of  ten  thousand  auto  sirens.  .  .  .  No  one 
around  but  people — millions  of  'em!  Don't  it  make 
you  think  of  a  little  old  home  in  my  great  new  West, 
where  we're  to  go  one  day — so  like  and  yet  so  different? 
.  .  .  And  Friend  Equus  is  to  go  along,  my  heart,  all 
the  more  appreciative  after  his  clash  with  the  tame. 
.  .  .  Yes,  and  you  too,  Police  Pup — if  Shepherd  Tom 
can  be  persuaded  to  let  you  resign  from  the  Force. 
He  just  may  be  willing  after  to-day's  mis-delivered 
lunch. 

"Then  list  to  the  Nubian  roar — much  more  like  a 
lion  it  sounds  than  the  rumble  of  city  streets.  .  .  .  List 
the  whisper  of  poplars  four — there  would  be  four,  ex- 
cept that  two  have  been  white-circled  into  stumps.  .  .  . 
Count  eighteen — twelve.  .  .  .  Take  heart  and  delve. 
.  .  .  Above  the  crock  the  block  will  rock.  .  .  .  That 
block  did  rock — did  rock — and  rock " 

He  leaned  low;  listened.    Jane's  gentle,  even  breath- 


294  LONESOME  TOWN 

ing  reported  her  asleep.  He  was  more  pleased  than  by 
any  of  the  wonderful  things  she  had  done  while  awake 
— even  than  by  that  voluntary  kiss,  so  precious  as  com- 
pared with  her  involuntary  first.  She  did  really  trust 
him  and  rest  in  his  protectorate,  else  could  she  never 
have  been  lulled  by  his  murmurings  into  unconscious- 
ness. She  must  indeed  have  been  spent,  when  the 
growls  and  spasmodic  foot  work  of  the  live  fur  rug 
did  not  disturb  her.  Kicko,  evidently,  had  lapsed  into 
dog  dreams  of  chases  and  fights. 

The  moon  must  be  rising.  Into  the  block-house  was 
shed  a  weird,  indirect  light.  Then  more  and  more 
direct  it  grew  until,  over  the  top  of  one  wall,  appeared 
a  large,  round  inverted  bowl  of  a  candle-power  that 
dimmed  the  kilowatt  signs  along  the  Gay  Way. 

Earlier  in  the  evening,  when  he  had  spoken  of  wait- 
ing for  darkness,  under  cover  of  which  to  attempt  an 
escape  afoot,  Pape  might  have  complained  at  the  illu- 
mination of  the  sky.  Now  he  beamed  back  at  the 
moon.  And  his  complacency  waxed  with  her  light, 
although  he  realized  that  bold  young  Dawn  would  be 
up  to  flirt  with  the  pale  night  queen  long  before  her 
departure;  that  any  attempt  to  escape  from  the  park 
would  not  be  blanketed  that  night. 

Let  Luna  reach  the  steps  of  her  throne,  he  bade  him- 
self in  thought,  that  each  corner  of  the  old  refuge  house 
might  be  lighted.  Let  Jane  have  out  her  sleep — happy 
he  to  guard  her  gracious  rest.  Let  the  Nubian  roar  of 
power  that  was  not  leonine  grow  faint  and  die.  Let 
the  city  and  the  city's  Finest  go  off  guard. 

Time  enough,  then,  to  test  application  of  the  eccen- 


HOUSE  OF  BLOCKS  295 

trie's  cryptogram,  copper-plated  line  by  line,  to  a  lo- 
cality unsuspected  by  their  enemies  and  chosen  by  them- 
selves quite  through  chance.  Not  a  doubt  shadowed  his 
mind  as  he  awaited  the  zero  hour.  The  lines  fitted, 
every  one. 

"List*  to  the  Nubian  roar" — to  the  night  noises  of 
the  surrounding  metropolitan  monster,  uncaged  in  Zoo, 
never-sleeping,  ever-pacing. 

"And  whisper  of  poplars  four" — the  branches  of 
two  staunch  old  rustlers  among  the  pines  made  silver 
lace  of  the  moonlight  just  outside  the  wall.  Doubtless 
the  two  that  had  been  sentenced  to  death  had  been  very 
much  alive  at  the  time  of  the  cryptogram's  composition. 

"  Tis  on  a  height" — where  was  one  so  high  to  the 
hoary-headed  veteran  as  this  on  which  he  delighted  to 
raise  his  country's  flag? 

"Eighteen  and  twelve  will  show" — Jane  had  named 
these  very  figures  as  the  date  on  the  memorial  tablet 
placed  in  the  wall  without.  Not  rods,  not  yards,  not 
feet  did  they  stand  for,  but  a  date. 

"Begin  below" — and  below  was  a  block  that  rocked 
"as  rocks  wrong's  overthrow !" 

Not  until  the  inverted  bowl  of  the  moon  was  a  cen- 
tral ceiling  light  did  Why  Not  Pape  move  to  answer 
the  queer  questions  in  his  mind.  Gently  he  then  lifted 
the  coat-coverlet  off  the  woman  below ;  wrapped  it  into 
a  roll ;  with  it  replaced  the  pillow  of  his  knee.  A  low 
command  he  gave  the  police  dog  to  lie  still.  Swiftly 
he  crossed  to  the  threshold  stone,  tilted  it  far  enough 
to  one  side  to  assure  himself  it  was  a  thin  slab  and 
muttered  in  a  sort  of  ecstacy : 


296  LONESOME  TOWN 

"Count  eighteen — twelve, 
Take  heart  and  delve." 

His  maximum  of  strength  was  required  to  turn  the 
stone  upon  its  back  on  the  floor  of  the  block-house. 
Across  the  earth  upon  which  it  so  long  had  lain  scur- 
ried the  crawling  things  that  thrive  in  under-rock 
dampness.  Down  on  his  knees  dropped  Pape  and,  with 
a  slate-like  fragment  of  rock  which  had  broken  off  in 
the  fall,  began  to  remove  the  soft  soil.  Soon  the  emer- 
gency implement  met  obstruction.  No  longer  needing 
advice  to  "take  heart,"  he  cast  aside  the  slate  and  began 
scooping  out  the  earth  around  this  object  with  bare 
hands. 

A  heavy  touch  upon  his  arm  shocked  him  into  an 
over-shoulder  glance.  The  Belgian  stood  bristling  just 
behind  him ;  had  tapped  him  with  a  paw  insistent  for  a 
share  in  the  digging  job.  Willingly  enough  Pape  ac- 
cepted his  efficient  aid  down  to  the  top  of  an  earthen 
pot  of  the  Boston  bean  variety.  More  excited  than  in 
past  hunts  for  seldom- found  gold  pockets  of  his  early 
prospecting  days,  the  Westerner  pushed  aside  the  dog; 
worked  his  two  nail-torn  hands  down  and  down  the 
smooth-curved  sides.  With  a  slow  tug,  he  lifted  what 
he  could  no  longer  doubt  was  the  crock  of  the  crypt. 
Reverently  as  though  he  were  an  acolyte  bearing  some 
holy  vessel  to  an  altar,  he  carried  it  across  the  room  and 
placed  it  at  the  feet  of  the  low-seated  high-priestess 
drawn  up  against  the  wall. 

"Am  I  dreaming?"  she  wondered  aloud. 

"Am  I?"  he  answered  by  asking.     "Or  do  I  see  a 


HOUSE  OF  BLOCKS  297 

tall,  strong  old  man,  with  a  shock  of  white  hair  and  a 
laugh  on  his  lips,  raising  a  flag  on  yonder  pole  ?" 

He  removed  the  lid  and  she  the  contents  of  that 
crock  of  "fortune  forevermore." 

And  thus  was  fulfilled  one  of  the  wild  Westerner's 
wishes — that  he  should  not  know  until  he  had  found 
the  object  of  his  search.  Thus,  through  deeds  and  not 
words,  he  learned  the  nature  of  Granddad  Lauderdale's 
buried  hoard. 

No  helping  of  "a  thousand  on  a  plate,"  as  doughboy 
might  have  expected,  did  Jane  serve  from  the  pot.  No 
stream  of  gold  fell  through  her  ringers,  to  puddle  be- 
tween them  on  the  stone-flagged  floor.  No  packets  of 
bank-notes  crinkled  in  her  grasp.  No  king's-ransom 
jewels  blinked  in  the  night-light  after  their  long  inter- 
ment. Yet  was  the  girl's  prediction  proved  true  that 
he  scarcely  could  believe  at  first  the  nature  of  their 
find.  Stupidly  he  stared.  Only  slowly  could  his  mind 
face  its  surprise  and  its  enormity. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
"FORTUNE  FOREVERMORE" 

AT  ten  o'clock  next  morning  a  taxicab  carrying 
three  fares  drew  out  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  "pass" 
and  stopped  before  the  Sturgis  house.  A  woman  and 
one  of  the  men  alighted.  The  second  remained  seated, 
his  waiting  role  evidently  prearranged,  as  the  pair  did 
not  so  much  as  nod  back  at  him.  Ascending  the  stone 
flight,  they  rang  the  front  bell,  as  strangers  might.  In 
due  time  the  door  swung  open. 

"Miss  Jane — thank  Heaven  you're  alive  and  back 
again!"  Jasper's  exclamation  was  fervent  beyond  all 
rules  of  butlership.  "Mr.  Pape,  good  morning,  sir. 
Your  arrival  is  timely,  too.  They  have  been  telephon- 
ing in  all  directions  to  locate  you.  Such  excitement, 
Miss  Jane,  as  we've  been  suffering!" 

"They,  Jasper?"  The  girl  faced  about  in  the  ves- 
tibule. 

"The  madame,  Mrs.  Sturgis,  and  Judge  Allen.  He 
has  had  a  fall  and  broken  his  shoulder,  we  fear.  Mr. 
Harford,  also,  was  in  some  sort  of  accident.  An  auto- 
mobile struck  him,  I  believe." 

"Accidents  all  round,  eh?"  Pape  enquired.  "Ain't 
that  odd?" 

"Indeed,  yes,  sir — odd  and  unfortunate." 

Distressed  as  he  looked,  Jasper  might  have  joined 

298 


"FORTUNE  FOREVERMORE"          299 

in  the  exchanged  smile  of  the  younger  pair,  had  he 
known  how  fortuitous,  if  odd,  was»this  gathering  of 
those  persons  concerned  in  the  pending  crock' s-bottom 
settlement.  Indeed,  since  the  lid  had  been  lifted  from 
the  bean  pot  of  fabulous  store,  circumstances  had 
worked  with  them. 

Their  exit  from  the  block-house  and  the  park  had 
been  shared  with  that  of  the  many  young  couples  driven 
from  Eden  at  the  strokes  of  midnight.  With  the  crock 
between  them  wrapped  in  Pape's  coat,  they  had  saun- 
tered out  Pioneers  Gate  unmolested  by  the  law  so  lately 
hot  at  their  heels.  Straight  to  the  yellow  brick  oft 
East  Sixty-third  they  had  whirred  themselves  and  their 
find ;  had  seen  triumph  complete  in  a  pair  of  outward- 
blinded  eyes  which  could  reflect  glad  sights  from 
within. 

Only  an  hour  off  after  breakfast  did  Pape  ask  for 
the  rescue  of  his  equine  pal  from  the  granite-spiked 
corral  that  flanks  the  mid-park  stables.  This  was  ef- 
fected by  a  ransom  payment  insignificant  as  compared 
with  the  paint-pony's  joy.  He  was  then  ready  for  the 
business  of  this  first  day  of  real  togethership  with  his 
self -selected — she  who  admittedly  herself  had  selected 
him. 

Of  the  quartette  in  the  luxurious  living-room  up- 
stairs, Irene  Sturgis  was  the  first  to  exclaim  their  unan- 
nounced entry. 

"Jane — and  still  with  him — the  impossible  person!" 

The  histrionic  horror  in  her  voice  brought  Mills 
Harford  to  his  feet;  contrary-wise,  sank  Mrs.  Sturgis 
into  the  depths  of  a  wing-chair;  broke  up  the  council 


300  LONESOME  TOWN 

of  war  under  way  beside  the  couch  on  which  lay  the 
wounded  little  judge. 

"Good  morning,  one  and  all !" 

The  cheer  of  Jane's  greeting  was  not  reflected  in  the 
faces  of  those  addressed. 

"We  hardly  hoped  to  find  you  bunched  up  and  wait- 
ing for  us  like  this,"  Pape  added  with  something  of  a 
flourish.  "Saves  sending  for  you." 

The  matron  straightened  on  the  edge  of  her  chair 
and,  with  a  precise  expression,  inspected  first  him,  then 
her  niece.  "You  two  spent  the  night  together,  I  as- 
sume ?" 

"Most  of  it,  auntie,  at  a  spiritualistic  seance  in  Cen- 
tral Park." 

Pape  chuckled.  "The  most  inspiring  I  ever  at- 
tended." 

"Jane — and  you  the  girl  I  counted  on  as  so  reliable! 
My  Irene  is  steady  by  contrast.  You  pretend  to  go 
visiting  friends  and  only  let  us  know  your  whereabouts 
when  you  get  arrested.  One  night  in  a  police  station- 
house  and  the  next —  I  presume — at  least,  I  hope,  for 
all  our  sakes,  that  you  thought  to  marry  this — this 
young  man  before  bringing  him  here." 

"Marry,  mother — that  brute?"  Irene  slithered  from 
her  seat  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  recently  vacated  by 
the  handsome  real-estater.  Throwing  herself  upon  her 
cousin's  neck  with  a  freshet  of  real  tears,  she  wailed: 
"Oh,  my  poor  dar-rling — our  poor  old  Janie !  No  mat- 
ter what  your  mistakes,  you  are  more  to  be  pitied  than 
punished.  Don't  lay  your  neck  on  the  altar  of  matri- 
mony for  this  outlaw.  I  am  sure  there's  a  good  man 


"FORTUNE  FOREVERMORE"          301 

and  true  somewhere  in  the  world  for  you,  even  though 
he  does  seem  a  long  time  showing  up.  Don't  be  over- 
come by  this  Wild  West  stuff.  /  know  full  well  that 
he  has  his  fatal  fascinations.  7  was  once  but  a  bird 
held  in  his  snake-like  spell,  until  my  Harfy  saved  me 
from  the  high  seas  of  his  tyranny  and  the  burning 
blast  of  his " 

"Enough,  Rene.  Loose  me.  You'll  drown  me  with 
brine  if  you  don't  smother  me  first,"  begged  the  object 
of  her  anxiety. 

The  more  Jane  struggled,  however,  the  tighter  did 
the  bob-haired  cousin  cling. 

"But,  you  poor  thing,  I  know  he'll  turn  on  you  one 
day  and  beat  you  up!  You  saw  how  he  treated  my 
Harfy — a  man  and  his  superior  in  every  way — how  he 
rained  blow  after  blow  on  his  priceless  pate.  What 
wouldn't  he  do  to  a  weak  woman  in  his  power?  Don't 
you  go  and  get  desperate  just  because —  Luck  in  love 
always  seems  to  run  my  way,  don't  you  think  so — or 
do  you?  Harfy  was  so  nice-nice  when  he  was  coming 
to  and  so  suppressed.  I  dote  on  suppression.  Do  you 
— or  don't  you?  He  just  gazed  at  me  with  all  his  soul 
when  I  asked  the  question  I  knew  he  was  too  used  up 
to  ask  me.  And  we're  going  to  have  the  biggest  church 
wedding  of  any  girl  in  my  set,  with  all  the  trimmings, 
just  as  soon  as  mother  can  manage  it.  Aren't  we, 
dar-rling?" 

"It  seems — that  we  are." 

In  the  admission,  her  challenged  fiance  looked 
neither  into  the  black  eyes  of  his  perquisitory  young 
lady  of  to-day  nor  the  blue  ones  of  her  upon  whom  he 


302  LONESOME  TOWN 

had  pressed  his  heart  and  hand  on  every  available  occa- 
sion in  their  near  past.  His  expression  was  that  of  one 
who  acknowledges  himself  vanquished — and  by  a  vic- 
tor fairer  than  the  fight. 

"Since,  madame,  you  approve  and  even  urge  my  suit 
for  your  niece's  hand" — and  Pape  frowned  deeply  be- 
fore the  disdainful  matron — "I'll  go  one  better  than 
Harfy  by  admitting  without  being  told  to  that  I  have 
assented.  Although  we  aren't  married  yet-yet,  Irene, 
we're  going  to  be  right  soon-soon.  That  was  as  unal- 
terable from  the  first  as  the  laws  of  gravity — or  of 
levity.  By  way  of  trimmings,  ive  have  a  score  or  two 
to  settle  first  with  three  of  you  folks,  which  is  why  we 
came." 

"Ah!" 

The  pudgy  jurist  had  risen  painfully  on  one  elbow 
and  now  sent  the  warning  word  in  company  with  a 
look — same  sort — Mrs.  Sturgis'  way. 

"Thank  God  we  are  not  too  late,  Helen,"  he  added 
after  a  throat-clearance,  "to  save  dear  Jane  from  this 
schemer.  As  I  hoped,  the  formalities  of  our  marriage 
law  have  not  been  complied  with.  This  leaves  you 
free  to  act  as  the  foolish  girl's  nearest  of  kin.  It  will 
be  easy  to  secure  an  order  from  one  of  my  friends  at 
court  restraining  her  further  activities  by  committing 
her  into  your  care." 

"It  will  take  more  than  an  order  from  such  friends 
at  court  as  you  will  have  after  to-day  to  restrain  Jane," 
Pape  suggested  pleasantly. 

"Clearly  she  has  acted  under  undue  influence  from 
you  so  far,  young  man,"  Allen  continued  with  impress- 


"FORTUNE  FOREVERMORE"          303 

ment.  "Were  you  half  as  clever  as  conspicuous  you'd 
have  got  the  ceremony  over  before  coming  here  to 
threaten  her  family.  As  the  husband  of  an  orphaned 
young  woman  you  might  have  had  something  to  say, 
but " 

"Orphaned?" 

With  the  interruption  Pape  crossed  to  one  of  the 
Fifth  Avenue  wirjdows  and  there  busied  himself  with 
a  quite  unnecessary  readjustment  of  the  shade. 

The  lady  of  the  house  was  apparently  too  disturbed 
to  resent  this  new  impertinence. 

"You  know  how  I  dread  the  courts,  Samuel.  Let 
me  first  try  suasion."  In  emotionful  appeal  she  turned 
to  Jane.  "For  sake  of  the  dear,  dead  sister  who  was 
your  mother,  I  beg  you,  as  one  who  has  tried  to  take 
a  mother's  place,  to  give  up  this  ill-timed  attack  of 
folly  and  this  impossible  man.  Perhaps  you  inherited 
the  tendency,  for  she  also  made  a  sad  mistake  in 
choosing  her  mate." 

"She  did?"  the  "orphan"  asked  quietly,  her  eyes  on 
the  velvet  hangings  of  the  hall  door. 

"In  marrying  a  Lauderdale — practically  a  pauper 
despite  the  family  obsession  of  their  claim  to  vast 
estates  in  the  Borough  of  the  Bronx — she  ruined  her 
life.  She,  too,  became  obsessed  through  his  power 
to  control  her  thoughts.  Her  life,  as  well  as  his,  was 
one  long  nightmare  of  crown-grants,  wills,  deeds,  what- 
nots. She  died  of  it,  dear,  just  as  your  father  after- 
wards went  down  under  disgrace  and  gloom.  Now 
you,  child,  stain  your  white  hands  with  this  black  magic. 
Excited  by  the  craze  for  adventure  of  this  person,  you 


304  LONESOME  TOWN 

let  yourself  be  led  into  indiscretions  that  bid  fair  to 
ruin  you.  Why  not  give  him  up  now — this  morning? 
I'll  stand  by  you  no  matter  what  is  said." 

"Me,  too,  dar-rling,"  chimed  in  Irene.  "I'll  soon  be 
a  matron,  you  know,  and  I'll  find  you  some  adequate 
male,  up-to-date  though  honest,  whom  we'll  persuade 
to  forget  and  forgive." 

Aunt  Helene,  her  breath  regained,  pleaded  further: 
"Listen  to  this  before  you  leap,  my  child.  Despite 
what  your  grandfather  left  in  the  way  of  puzzle-charts, 
Judge  Allen  and  I,  acting  in  your  interest,  have  at  last 
satisfied  ourselves  that  there  is  nothing — quite  nothing 
of  the  slightest  material  value  to  you  buried  in  Central 
Park.  We  didn't  intend  to  tell  you  so  soon,  but  all 
last  night  the  judge  had  a  crew  of  men  working  at  a 
spot  indicated  in  the  cryptogram." 

"And  how  did  he  get  the  instructions  of  the  crypto- 
gram?" Jane  enquired.  "No  one  saw  it  before  it  was 
stolen  but  me." 

"Jane,  that  you  should  speak  to  me  in  that  suspicious 
tone!  Had  I  been  given  opportunity,  I  should  have 
told  you  that  yesterday  the  contents  of  your  antique 
snuff-box  were  secretly  exchanged  for  the  large  reward 
which  I  offered  in  your  name,  presumedly  by  the  thief 
who  stole  it  from  my  safe." 

"You  don't  say,  ma'am?  So!  It  was,  eh?"  The 
Westerner  was  rather  explosive  from  acute  interest. 

The  matron  ignored  him.  "The  judge,  Jane,  fol- 
lowed directions  and  discovered  a  crock — large  and 
open  topped,  like  the  sort  dill  pickles  are  made  in.  But, 
alas,  it  contained  nothing  but  a  half-witted  old  man's 


"FORTUNE  FOREVERMORE"          305 

keepsakes — scraps  of  his  unutterable  poetry,  ribbon- 
tied  parcels  of  yellowed  love-letters,  pressed  flowers  and 
a  wisp  of  some  woman's  hair.  Were  your  father  alive, 
I'd  feel  I  should  take  some  of  my  own  fortune  and 
make  restitution  of  his  frauds  upon  the  collateral  heirs. 
But  since  he's  dead  and  gone,  I  don't  exactly  feel " 

"Not  altogether  gone,  Helene,  yet  not  in  need  of 
your  restitution!" 

At  the  voice,  Mrs.  Sturgis  smothered  a  scream; 
turned;  stared. 

Through  the  portieres  that  closed  off  the  hall  stepped 
Curtis  Lauderdale,  led  from  the  taxi  by  the  driver 
thereof  in  answer  to  Pape's  signal  from  the  window. 

Verily  an  apparition  did  he  look  to  the  four  who  had 
accepted  the  report  of  his  death.  Mrs.  Sturgis,  with 
hands  grasping  behind  her,  was  backing  as  though  from 
a  ghost.  The  little  jurist  did  not  move,  but  all  the 
apple  color  had  departed  his  cheeks.  Irene's  red-rouged 
lips  could  not  pale,  but  at  least  her  mouth  was  agape. 
Harford  stiffened,  as  though  preparing  for  attack. 

One  on  either  side,  Jane  and  Pape  crossed  to  the  late- 
comer and  lined  up  the  triumvirate.  Accurately  the 
blind  eyes  fixed  on  Allen.  In  direct  address  the  long 
unheard  lips  began  to  speak. 

"We  meet  again,  Sam,  my  trusted  counsellor  and 
cherished  friend.  With  your  mask  torn  off,  you  look 
more  changed  to  me  than  I  possibly  can  to  you.  Oh, 
don't  waste  time  with  denials !  I'd  need  to  be  blinder 
than  mustard  gas  could  make  me  not  to  see  you  as  you 
are.  For  years  you  traded  upon  the  gullibility  of  my 
father.  You  persuaded  him  that  fortune  would  build 


306  LONESOME  TOWN 

bigger  and  faster  if  he  withheld  proof  of  title  to  our 
Bronx  estates  and  let  the  Guarantee  Investors  develop 
a  property  that  has  belonged  to  the  Lauderdales  since 
the  grant  of  King  James.  You  overcame  his  needs  and 
his  children's  needs  with  false  promises  of  rich  reward 
when  he  eventually  would  claim  the  improved  acreage. 
And  after  letting  him  die  in  half-crazed  poverty,  with 
his  mysterious  instructions  unfound  and  our  title 
proofs  buried  with  them,  you  advised  me  to  raise  money 
from  the  collateral  heirs  and  institute  a  court  fight  to 
establish  our  rights.  And  it  was  you,  I  feel  sure,  who 
brought  these  heirs  before  the  Grand  Jury  that  indicted 
me  for  fraud  just  after  I  had  sailed  for  Somewhere  in 
France." 

A  moment  Lauderdale  paused  in  the  controlled  fury 
of  his  accusation,  brushed  a  hand  across  his  eye-lids  and 
moistened  his  lips. 

"But  the  crookedest  lane  has  its  end,  Sam  Allen.  My 
chief  treasure  you  could  not  take  from  me — a  glorious 
girl  child  born  to  retribution.  To  her  aid  came  this 
real-man  sample  from  out  the  West.  Working  to- 
gether they  have  recovered  every  necessary  document, 
even  to  my  parent's  last  will  and  testament.  We  are 
ready  and  able  now  to  right  the  most  grievous  wrong 
ever  perpetrated  in  the  medium  of  New  York  real  estate 
— to  force  your  company  to  turn  over  a  thousand  acres 
in  the  heart  of  the  Bronx  and  to  make  restitution,  under 
your  guarantee,  to  innocent  purchasers,  even  if  it  breaks 
you  as  you  would  have  broken " 

He  was  stopped  by  the  grasp  which  Pape  had  put 
on  his  arm. 


"FORTUNE  FOREVERMORE"          307 

"Don't  dump  all  the  onus  on  the  judge,  Mr.  Lauder- 
dale,"  he  advised.  "We  mustn't  forget  that  he  is  a 
lawyer,  hence  full  of  wriggles.  Best  leave  his  punish- 
ment to  me  and  that  more  easily  proved  charge  of  the 
Montana  Gusher  oil-stock  fraud.  There  is  one  among 
those  present,  to  approach  the  subject  guardedly,  who 
is  more  directly  responsible  for  the  Bronx  realty  steal 
than  His  Honor." 

Even  Jane,  close  as  she  had  been  to  the  queer  ques- 
tioner throughout  recent  developments,  was  startled 
by  his  statement.  What  sort  of  a  lone  hand  was  he 
playing? 

Allen's  pudgy  palms  clasped.  Aunt  Helene  eyed  one, 
then  another  of  the  group,  as  though  bewildered. 

Only  Pape's  gaze  did  not  wander.  It  turned  from 
the  blind  man's  face  to  fix  upon  that  of  Mills  Harford. 
At  the  silent  accusation,  Irene  sprang  toward  him,  no 
longer  a  kitten,  but  a  flare-eyed  mother-cat  in  defense 
of  her  own. 

"Don't  you  dare  accuse  my  Harfy,  you  cave-brute !" 
she  cried.  "Just  because  he  makes  money  out  of  real- 
estate  isn't  any  reason  to  jump  at  the  conclusion  that 
he " 

"Right,  Rene."  Pape  had  a  sympathetic  grin  for 
her  vehemence.  "I  was  only  considering  your  Harfy  as 
a  possible  witness  to  the  truth.  Cross  my  heart,  I  ain't 
got  a  thing  against  him  personally,  now  that  he  has 
consented  to  take  you  instead  of " 

"You  horrid,  hateful  thing!"  she  screamed.  "What 
do  you  mean  by  'consented  to' " 

"Stand  corrected,  miss,  soon  to  be  madame.     Now 


3o8  LONESOME  TOWN 

that  you  have  consented  to  take  him  instead  of  aspir- 
ing to  me." 

"Beast!  However  could  I  have  thought  you  nice- 
nice?" 

"Can't  say,  unless  it  is  that  I  am — sometimes." 

Jane  broke  up  their  sprightly  exchange  with  the  seri- 
ous demand:  "But  the  some  one  more  directly  re- 
sponsible ?" 

"Be  done  with  innuendo,  young  men !"  Mrs.  Sturgis 
rose  to  her  feet,  with  every  inch  of  her  scant  height 
counting.  "A  gentleman — one  of  whom  we  say  'to 
the  manner  born' — makes  no  accusation  without  proof." 

"I  don't  need  to  make  accusation  or  present  proof  to 
you,  madam." 

"You're  not  trying  to  insinuate " 

Many  lights  had  Pape  seen  in  women's  eyes,  but 
never  one  as  startled,  angry  and  afraid  as  that  flashed 
him  by  Aunt  Helene.  Next  moment  she  attempted 
a  light  laugh  that  ended  with  a  nervous  crescendo. 

"You,  too,  must  be  mad." 

"At  least  that,"  he  admitted  cheerfully.  "You've 
known  why  for  several  minutes  past.  You  acknowl- 
edge the  judge  here  as  your  advisor,  don't  you?" 

"I  certainly  do." 

"Better  ask  his  advice,  then,  without  further  delay. 
I've  an  idea  he'll  tell  you  to  come  across  clean — admit 
that  you  are  The  Guarantee  Investors,  Incorporated, 
who  have  been  trying  to  grab  off  the  Lauderdales' 
Bronx  ranch  and  put  Jane  here  out  of  the  heiress  class. 
Come,  madam!  Any  woman  who  can  rob  her  own 
safe  and  give  the  alarm  and  play-act  the  grief  of  a 


"FORTUNE  FOREVERMORE"          309 

whole  wake  afterwards  certainly  ought  to  get  a  great 
deal  out  of  a  confession  scene.  Suppose  you  take  your 
family- friend  tool  and  your  in-law-to-be  into  the  library 
for  a  conference.  Just  possibly  I — the  outlaw- that- 
was — can  show  Mr.  and  Miss  Lauderdale  reasons  why 
they  should  listen  to  a  plea  for  mercy." 

Before  Pape  had  finished,  the  small  jurist  was  on 
his  feet  in  acceptance  of  the  suggestion.  The  wilt  of 
guilt  drooped  the  matron  into  the  arms  of  her  child. 
As  one  woman  they  were  supported  toward  the  door 
by  Mills  Harford. 

"It  was  all  my  poor  husband's  idea,  not  my  own,'* 
Aunt  Helene  was  heard  to  defend  to  an  interlude  of 
sobs.  "And  with  him,  as  with  me,  it  was  all  because 
we  did  so  want  our  poor  Irene  to  have  the  fortune 
her  beauty  deserves.  We  knew  how  impractical  the 
Lauderdales  were.  He  didn't  believe  they  ever  could 
make  good  their  claim  to  the  Bronx  estate.  We  both 
thought  it  would  be  better  for  our  own  dear  child  to 
have  it  than  some  outsider.  When  he  realized  that  he 
couldn't  live  to  see  the  plan  through  he  charged  me  to 
carry  it  out.  Of  course  I  meant  to  make  proper  pro- 
vision for  Jane  if " 

The  door  closed  behind  them. 

When  the  triumvirate  stood  alone,  low-voiced  and 
happier  exchanges  passed. 

"How  did  you  know,  son  ?" 

"Didn't  know.  Aunt  Helene  seemed  too  good  to  be 
true,  so  I  just  stayed  on  a  busted  flush  and  finished 
a  winner.  Why  not?" 

"Why  not,  indeed?"     Jane  showed  sufficient  knowl- 


3io  LONESOME  TOWN 

edge  of  the  game  to  pay  over  what  was  due  the  taker 
of  the  pot. 

"Welcomed  at  last  to  Lonesome  Town — welcomed 
with  open  arms !"  exulted  he  who  so  recently  had  had 
to  welcome  himself. 

And  that  very  night  Broadway  saw  new  reason  to 
believe  in  its  signs.  Out  over  Times  Canon  winked  a 
re-lettered  electric  message  that  lit  the  imagination  a** 
does  every  such  happy  ending  and  happier  start : 


CONGRATULATIONS 
MR.  AND  MRS.  WHY-NOT  PAPE 


THE  END 


A     000115498     8 


